


The Ember Beneath The Tempest

by cassyeopeia



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Exorcisms, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hongjoong is King, Hyperventilating, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Minor YunSanHwa, Misunderstandings, Mythology References, Prophecies, Rituals, Royalty, Shapeshifting, Sleep Paralysis, Swordfighting, There's a lot happening but Everything will be Okay in the End Trust me, Torture, War, Yeosang is a Spirit, a lot of angst i'm sorry, keeping secrets, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 184,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassyeopeia/pseuds/cassyeopeia
Summary: "Kind and generous, fair and vigilant. With the fire ever-blazing in his chest. A king who made every governor and guard want to pull their hairs out. A king who would go on night strolls around the palace proper, who would sneak out the windows and steal apples from the kitchen, or who would attend his court meetings with his bow across his shoulders and his quiver to his hip. Thunder gave him the order to wander as freely as wildfire, but to strike as suddenly and violently as lightning. So that is how he lived his life."
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. The Flamecrowned

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ;D I am back with another novella-length fic featuring a ship that also deserves more content.  
> (I might be on a mission to write about smaller/less popular ships, not sure yet)  
> Back in University we had a whole semester dedicated to historical fiction, and I hated every second of it. I promised not to write anything historical, and here I am.  
> This one took longer than Give Me All Your Shame, and I can’t decide if I spent more time writing it or researching it…But it’s just as much of an emotional rollercoaster as the other one is. If not more.  
> The views and opinions expressed here in no way reflect mine, since this is a historical piece, so please keep that in mind ^^ Also if I missed any tags, please let me know and I’ll add them. ❤  
> 

During a violent November storm, when roof tiles were blown away and tree branches as thick as pillars whipped across the village streets, people prayed in the corners of their houses, but the thunder and lightning were at nobody’s mercy. Children cried, livestock wailed in fear in their stables, and horsemen blindingly travelled across the forests with their arms shielding their eyes from the hail in search for shelter. Roads were already flooded and rivers were overflowing. What lied beyond the clouds cried with the rage of a thousand dragons.

During this tempest, at the palace, a baby prince was being born. The queen’s face was flushed scarlet, sweat running down her face as fast as the rainfall outside. Biting onto the cotton cloth, she held the fabric ribbons hanging from the ceiling as tightly as she feared being taken away by death. She had not screamed. She had not begged the pain to stop. Instead, she begged the pain to pour down on her so her child would not have to bear any.

The moment the baby’s first cry escaped his little throat, a bolt of lightning struck the tree by the palace entrance, and the squall made the fire spread quicker than men could react. The queen raised her arms to hold her son, being held up by her maids. She smiled, and everyone else smiled with her. Her arms were weak, but she felt the help of her ancestors holding her son up in her arms, higher and higher, as if he was already meant to ascend and rule.

The baby’s hair was crimson, like the newly bloomed leaves of the _emperor maple_. His body was light, almost floating in his mother’s arms. On his chest, there were three vertically aligned dots the same colour as his hair- his birthmarks.

He was named Hyeokjoon. ‘To rule over the flames’ it meant.

As he grew up, the king and queen saw the boy's hair as a powerful symbol, and would often treat it as such. They let it flow down his as often as the sun would pour gold onto his hair, and they all beamed like they had witnessed a miracle.

When she’d see him, his mother always placed her thumb and index fingers on the corners of her mouth and lifted them, gesturing for Hyeokjoon to confidently smile.

The prince lived his childhood and adolescence following his father wherever he went, absorbing the things he said and the manner he said them in. His glares and gestures, habits and traits. When Hyeokjoon was fifteen, the queen told him a story about how his father allowed him to attend some meetings and banquets, and the way he’d tug on his overcoat and reach for every object on the table. His father grabbed little Hyeokjoon and held him above his lap until he calmed, before starting all over again. Hyeokjoon tugged on his father’s beard and made everyone laugh. He had no memory of his parents ever shouting at him, except for when he went chasing a frog when a wagon was approaching. When he was too much to handle, his father would place his hand over his face, and Hyeokjoon would grab two of his fingers in each hand, laying his father’s hand on his little lap. He would hold it there until they were done. His father was not allowed to take his hand back until the court meeting was over.

The prince grew up to be adored and worshipped by his people. He’d dismount his horse and ask the children what they were playing, or to help an old lady take her heavy baskets back to her home as if humility ran through him quicker than blood did. He remembered the names of the townspeople like they were all his distant family.

Years later, the king was assassinated days before his birthday, and the queen, weeping and grieving, succumbed to illness, and soon followed him.

Hyeokjoon was nineteen, and before he had the time to comprehend what has happened and where his parents had gone, he found himself before his throne, with scarlet garments to mirror his hair, embroidered with gold to match his skin. Hyeokjoon had never tied his hair unless he was horse riding or practising sword fighting or martial arts. The first thing he did after the crowning ceremony was over was to change his name.

He wanted his birth name to be where his parents were. There was no other way for him to ever see them again, but to bury his name where the king and queen now rested.

As a prince, righteous and free-spirited, he was Hyeokjoon, as wild as the flame he was named after.

But as a king, he was better known as Hongjoong. A much more appropriate name for the kind of king he wanted to be. Kind and generous, fair and vigilant. With the fire ever-blazing in his chest. A king who made every governor and guard want to pull their hairs out. A king who would go on night strolls around the palace proper, who would sneak out the windows and steal apples from the kitchen, or who would attend his court meetings with his bow across his shoulders and his quiver to his hip. Thunder gave him the order to wander as freely as wildfire, but to strike as suddenly and violently as lightning. So that is how he lived his life.

He had been friends with a bladesmith’s son, Song Mingi. Hongjoong had never missed a chance to spar Mingi with wooden swords. By the time they were sixteen, and seventeen respectively, they became comrades as well as rivals in martial arts. Hongjoong was currently in the lead with two wins, but Mingi never seemed to back down. He was much firmer than Hongjoong and as tall as a Titan. Hongjoong was not very gifted in the height department, but his legs ran as fast as his mind, his tongue was as sharp as his sword, and he held his chin up as high as the royal family’s banner. In the afternoons when he was encouraged to rest after running affairs, he’d run to get his wooden sword and search for Mingi, but that day Mingi was sparring with someone else. A boy smaller than him, with fierce eyes and thick, sculpted arms. He saw Hongjoong approaching and immediately dropped his sword to kowtow. He was named Choi Jongho, and he was the son of the Chief Censor. Since then the trio would meet whenever Hongjoong was not busy, and the other two would often fight over who’d spar with Hongjoong first. Needless to say, they were both so fond of him and loved him as a brother.

When he walked the streets of the capital, he’d let his long hair flow freely, with thin strands tied back in a braid to fully expose his face. He was aware of the way people looked at him sometimes, but not once did he give in. Aspects that people considered weaknesses or flaws, to him they were all gifts. Ones that he would find use for.

After his parents’ death, he assigned both Mingi and Jongho as personal guards and confidants, but that was just a formal way of asking for someone to be constantly beside him. The royal court was as understanding as one could be, and the boys’ parents were more than happy to have them finally move out. Hongjoong offered them a room three doors away from his. They’d eat breakfast together, and Jongho and Mingi were even the ones who offered to carry Hongjoong while on his palanquin during the morning assembly.

Hongjoong became weary and overwhelmed with governmental affairs and teachings. He would smile less and less, and from there he’d start spiralling. The pain would come his way like a poorly aimed arrow, but when it hit the bullseye, there were times when he refused to wake up or eat.

One late night he heard a knock at the door. Jongho opened it and greeted him with a sympathetic smile. He told Hongjoong to dress up and join him outside.

By the front gates, there was his horse, with Mingi brushing his black mane.

“We thought you might need some time alone.”

Hongjoong embraced them both and he was on his way before the historians woke up. They followed him everywhere and wrote down everything he did. He was raised better than to tell them to leave. He noticed them writing down how ‘His hair will one day grow longer than his body’ and he clenched his teeth in anger.

He mounted his horse and rode off around the riding hall in circles, which began to seem smaller and smaller. It was not enough for his horse to speed up and fill him with adrenaline. So he opened the door and made a hissing sound with his teeth to indicate his horse to start galloping faster.

It was an autumn night, cold enough to keep the leaves still. The weather has been gentle in the past months as well.

He crossed bridges he had never crossed before and walked paths he did not know existed. He was less than an hour away from the palace with no intention of turning back. The trees became denser, the road was paved no more. The ground was covered in a foliage of dark, wilted flowers. Despite being in an unknown area, there was nothing there that triggered his fight or flight response. As he advanced, the air became more humid and somewhat sweeter, until his ears caught the sussur of a river. He turned the horse’s reins to change directions towards it. Weeping willows were arched above him, brushing their leaves against the top of his head as he walked past them, but his eyes were attentive, his senses sharp, and the corners of his lips arched upwards.

Hongjoong saw the moon hidden behind the mountain top in the distance, huge and bright as if wanting to eat the cypress trees up. The horse’s mane glinted grey. The pine green of his robes became more vibrant, and his hair glowed like wildfire.

As he approached the source of the sound, he realised that what he had heard was a river joined by the sound of a gentle flute. He saw a white figure beyond the curtain of willow branches, but he debated listening until they finished the song or turn around and leave. He drew his hand away from the willow’s branches and held still, but the horse stomped his hoof against the ground, making a stone roll off on the other side of the leaf drape. Hongjoong grabbed the reins tighter in his hands when the song stopped. He stepped back, his other palm against the horse’s neck to calm him down.

The willow’s slender branches rustled as the curtain opened up, revealing the face of a young boy with smooth, bright, and bronze hair, long enough to reach his hipbones. His eyes were big and blue like two gemstones rained from Heaven. He wore a white, silk robe with a cord around his waist, and his feet were bare. His hand was little above his head, holding the branches away from his face. He looked like a deer who knew no danger, before whom no weapon had ever posed a threat. He blinked, and Hongjoong could swear that he heard his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. That is how quiet the night was.

“Sorry, I did not mean to disturb you.”

He shook his head and a smiled flourished on his lips. “You did not. You just surprised me. People hardly ever travel here. Are you lost?” It was no wonder that he played the flute so wonderfully. His voice sounded like where music was nascent. Surprisingly low for how bright he looked. Hongjoong imagined him skilled in the arts of reciting and storytelling.

“No. No, I only heard music and…”

“And you got curious.”

The king nodded, his cheeks red with shame.

“I was just about to play one more song.”

Hongjoong looked at him at the hidden request. In all of his naïveté, he went to tie the horse’s reins around a thicker tree branch and joined the boy back beyond the willows.

The boy sat was a pond filled with waterlilies. The water sparkled in the moonlight like strings of silver, very much like the boy’s robe. He took a seat on a large, flat rock, and gathered his garments around him, inviting Hongjoong to sit next to him.

The song he played was the kind that would draw the attention of people who were lost. People who needed answers. The song was soft like it was made for the weak-hearted. Hongjoong’s eyes were on the flowers. The rest of his senses were all listening to the song like they were listening to a legend being told. He played for minutes, never missing a note, as if his lungs were bottomless.

It made Hongjoong feel like he was part of a tale where he was not king, and probably not even human. He was the wind itself, able to soar as low as seas and as high as mountains, screaming his sorrow out without people batting an eye.

“I hope that made you feel better,” Blue-eyes said. Hongjoong whipped his head towards him, eyebrows raised. “You seemed upset. I hope that cheered you up.”

The water was still as if frozen, the moonlight now a sheen over the surface. Waterlilies bloomed when the song played.

Hongjoong nodded, partly confused.

His fingers itched to touch the boy’s face to see if his being would ripple like the surface of water upon touch. He became more accommodated with the idea that that entire interaction was just a dream and he entered some enchanted forest where mythological beings dwelled. He had only heard military officers mentioning how there are foreigners with brightly-coloured eyes. Maybe he was foreign. Better than him being surreal. His face was too clear to be human, his features too carefully chosen. He was a young man of myth, where words shaped his features. Stories were told about him, where his cheeks and eyes were compared with grand and precious things. Thus he came to look like he did.

The boy blinked towards the sky, and the first raindrop landed on Hongjoong’s nose. Then a second one. He had never thought he would have been so willing to allow the rain to pour over him as if that was a blessing in itself.

“Come with me,” he said. He had the kind of voice Hongjoong could fall asleep to. He did not wait for Hongjoong’s approval, already leading the way. He was led closer to the base of the mountain, in a path of the forest where trees were much denser.

“Pardon me, but are your feet not cold?”

The boy chuckled, turning around to face Hongjoong. He was still walking with his hands crossed at his back. “I was just thinking about that. I’ll be sure to warm them up.” He ceased his steps and pointed to a tall and enclosed rock formation made out of piled-up stones. “I think your horse should stay here. He might not…fit.”

“Fit?”

“Yes. He will be safe from the rain, I promise.” He rolled his sleeve up and raised his hand to the horse’s mane. “May I touch him?”

“You may.”

He caressed his neck and walked his fingers through the strands of his mane. “You’re a gorgeous one, aren’t you?” He spoke serenely, smiling like a maiden.

The sight made Hongjoong’s heartbeat with the rhythm of a song that made waterlilies bloom. 

The boy guided him to the cave by the rock formation. Laying a hand over Hongjoong's back for support, but not yet touching him, he guided him down the stone stairs. It was pitch black and much colder than outside, but once they entered the cave, the temperature had risen, about the same as the one in his room back at the palace.

Candles and oil lamps lit up by themselves once they entered the cave. Hongjoong tensed up and instinctively clenched his fist. “It’s all right. I made that happen.”

Hongjoong nodded and shyly tucked his hand beneath his long sleeves.

The cave had weeds growing out from the cracks in the ground and walls. There was no flooring or carpets, just a somewhat flat layer of grey stone that was unusually warm beneath Hongjoong’s feet. There were shelves carved into stone, where ceramics sat, like celadon incense burners, vases with floral motifs, a pile of bowls and cups, and other Buddhist potteries. On the lower shelves, there were books and tomes and several rosary beads hanging. On the right side, there was a low table where a water filled jug sat.

"Is something wrong?"

“No, I was just admiring how many historical pieces you have here, all in such a small place. You have more artefacts than in any other place I have seen. Is this really where you live?”

“It is."

Hongjoong paused, his eyebrows furrowed in question.

“May I ask your name?”

The boy sat down on the chair by the table and placed his feet inside a ceramic basin, where he mixed oils with lukewarm water and poured it in. Hongjoong smiled at the way he wiggled his toes.

“My name is Eunbaem.”

The tales about Eunbaem varied. Some said that he was a descendant of the Gumiho, a young, handsome man who could shift into a woman who seduced and ate men. A magical snake whose poison could bring people back to life. Others said that he was a fox who stole from villagers and caused them to turn against and accuse each other. And other stories said that he controlled the winds with the music he played on his flute, and sometimes the wind would turn into whispers and the whispers would become conception dreams for soon-to-be mothers. The one that Hongjoong heard most recently was that Eunbaem was a herbalist who lived in a cave at the base of a mountain, and people would come to him for remedies for unnamed diseases. At least that part seemed to be accurate.

“The Eunbaem?”

He nodded. “There is no other Eunbaem, is there?”

“I believe not. I thought you were a myth.”

“I suppose a part of me is.”

“Are the stories true, then?”

“I’ve heard so many rumours about me. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“People said you’re a snake whose venom can bring people back to life.”

“Venom cannot bring anyone back to life...I wish people would stop spreading rumours. All I do is carry on with my life and suddenly I hear people talking about how I once killed ten men with a single snap of a finger. And there is nothing I can do to prove them wrong. It makes me sad.” He grabbed a clean cloth from the table and proceeded to wipe his feet. His lips formed in a little pout.

Hongjoong could still not wrap his head around the situation he found himself in. Growing up, he loved it when his parents told him about legendary heroes, and names who travelled throughout history. His mother was very spiritual, and with that, she was very strict with the way Hongjoong prayed. She believed in every named spirit and took everything as a sign from a nature god. A rare flower blooming. A leaf growing differently from the others.

Eunbaem was too human. He looked like an enchanted creature, but ever since he introduced himself, he began speaking to him with a hint of informality.

“I did not believe that if it makes you feel better.”

Eunbaem shoved the basin away with his foot and reached for his shoes. “What did you believe, then?”

“Um,”

“…If you believed.”

“I don’t mean to offend you in any way, but I have not been particularly interested in spirits. But I appreciated the nice stories that were told about you.”

“No need to be sorry.” He smiled with reassurance. “It feels nice to talk to someone like this. People who strongly believe in me tend to be a bit overwhelming.”

“When was the last time you talked to someone?”

“Um,” He thought, tilting his head left and right, making the hair over his shoulders sway with the rhythm. “It must have been around five years.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am hundreds of years old. Five years is a mere blink. Say, would you like me to serve you anything?”

Hongjoong did not have the time to prepare a more polite answer. Everything he said, no matter how he said it, would not match Eunbaem’s kindness. “I would love to, but I am afraid I should be going soon. I wish I could stay, but people are looking for me. I’m sure there are.”

Eunbaem placed his hands together over his lap and smiled. “I understand. I will see you home safely. There are creatures of the night who can be unfriendly to humans."

Hongjoong nodded idly.

“By the way,” Eunbaem said. Hongjoong did not expect him to suddenly sound so serious. “You must swear to me not to reveal this to anyone. The fact that you’ve met me. Because if you do, I will have to erase your memory of me.”

A shiver ran across Hongjoong’s stomach, like a wave of nausea. He valued every second he had spent in the historical journey that was Eunbaem's cave. And in the creature's presence, as well. In the candlelight, his hair was brighter and of a sandstone colour. “I swear.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of air, holding it in for several seconds. “The rain will stop soon. Would you like to go watch?”

Hongjoong followed suit without answering. when they left, Eunbaem had not lifted a hand to support him anymore, but was close behind him. Suddenly in Eunbaem’s hand, there was a bangasa, white with blue rims, with a jade trinket attached to its handle. Eunbaem leaned it over Hongjoong’s head.

Ever since he was little, Hongjoong has never been too fond of the rain. He had never been too keen on jumping in puddles and going out in the rain to play. He grew up thinking that rain brought his mood down and softened him.

“Do you watch the rain often?” He asked.

“I love listening to it, rather than watching it. My older brother likes to talk to me through the rain.”

“Where is your brother now?” Hongjoong’s mouth spoke before his brain allowed it, instantly wishing he took it back lest it was a sensitive topic. Instead, he was met with an even wider smile.

Eunbaem pointed above them. “There.”

Dead? In the sky? Hongjoong wasn’t sure, so he said nothing.

“San: Messenger of the Heavens, Artisan of Palisades, Keeper of Wishes and Dreams, Protector of Mountain Tops, or ‘He Who Named the Mountains’…That is my brother. He is at the top of this mountain. He does not leave unless there is utmost need to."

“You guard the base and he guards the peak?”

“No. I was not given anything to protect. I protect whatever is dear to me. I am here only for him, in case he will awaken one day and need me. But,” He paused and closed his eyes, chin raised. Hongjoong took in his side profile. His eyelashes, the arch of his nose, the shape of his lips. “All I hear are his dreams. He has been having good dreams for a long time now.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means a rich harvest for the farmers, fortune for the merchants, and blessings for the king.”

Hongjoong bit back a smile. “Oh, does it now?”

“It does.” Eunbaem adjusted his grip around the umbrella's handle. “So tell me, what do you dream about?”

“I hardly ever dream. I always forget by the time I wake up.”

Eunbaem hummed in response. A part of him felt sorry, almost pitied him.

The tapping of the raindrops against the umbrella ceased, but Eunbaem was as still and patient, eyes ahead of him like there truly was a person standing there. It wasn’t until the only droplets raining down were the ones against the leaves. The umbrella still rested open against Eunbaem’s shoulder. “Shall we go?”

Hongjoong nodded and went to retrieve his horse. The next time he turned around, Eunbaem was lying down in mid-air. Floating like the humidity in the air was as soft as feather puffs. “Don’t be frightened, now. I don’t want to get these shoes dirty.”

His white robes floated along with him as if he was underwater.

Hongjoong mounted his horse and lead the way out of the forest, with Eunbaem flying around him, ahead of him, then behind him, and in the next second, he was holding the umbrella over Hongjoong’s head when passing underneath a patch of forest where trees cried the most.

“I like your hair.” He said, smiling. The tone in his voice matched one used when confessing secrets. Hongjoong shied away from the compliment. And for the rest of the way as well. He shied away from Eunbaem’s eyes. When they approached the palace gates, Hongjoong wished they took a different route. The more he was advancing, the closer he was to waking up and realising that meeting Eunbaem was indeed a dream.

“I think this is fine.”

Eunbaem looked around. There were no shelters or houses nearby. “But you do not live here.”

“Yes, but-”

“I know you’re the king.” He smiled kindly. He lifted his bangasa to the sky, until it vanished into thin air, and instead, a white, feathered fan fell back into his hand. He fluttered it over his face, covering his mouth and nose. “And before you even think about apologising, know that there is nothing you should feel sorry for. You didn’t deceive me.” He reached for one lock of Hongjoong’s hair, then slowly released it. “At least now I know we're humble."

"That's one word I have not heard in a long time."

Eunbaem flew ahead of him, and Hongjoong’s eyes followed the sheen in his hair as the moonlight dusted silver over his every strand. “You needn't be reminded that you are when you know that in your heart."

There was nothing in Hongjoong’s emotionally inexperienced heart that he could use to counter that. Eunbaem’s manner of speaking was forged from mythical irons and steels, plated with silver, until every sentence, no matter how spontaneous, came forward in a Ciceronian style. Rhythmical and eloquent.

The palace grounds came into view; Hongjoong grabbed the horse’s reins tighter, discreetly gesturing him to slow down.

“Your Highness, I-”

“Hongjoong.”

Eunbaem tilted his head, his eyelashes fluttering curiously along with the feathers caressing his cheeks. “Oh?”

“We are not at the palace yet. I can tell you my name.”

Eunbaem flicked his wrist rapidly, closing the fan up in a sudden movement, and lowered his head respectfully. “Thank you, but I would never call the king by his name, first and foremost. But I will remember it.” Eunbaem gently touched the bridge of Hongjoong’s nose, then his cupid’s bow. “If you need anything, be it remedies, advice, songs for a sad day, or maybe I can convince my brother to spare you a prophecy, do come to see me. Is that alright with you?”

Hongjoong beamed. “It is. Thank you.”

“No need.” He flicked his fingers back and forth towards the palace gates. “Be off then. It’s past your sleep time. I promise no one will scold you.” He rested his chin against his hand fan’s guard.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue as a signal for his horse to start galloping. Eunbaem made sure to pat his mane and forehead one last time, showering him with compliments about how noble he was.

“I’ll see you soon, Eunbaem. Be safe.”

Eunbaem landed his feet to the ground, gently, like he was weightless, and crossed his hands at his back. “And you.” He smiled, and a whirlwind of snow and feathers arose from the ground, up to his hips and shoulders, as the spirit’s body disappeared beneath it, until everything that was left behind was the trinket that Eunbaem had attached to his bangasa.

That night, Hongjoong dreamt of mountain peaks and waterfalls streaming from the clouds.

*

Hongjoong woke up minutes before the sun and went to glimpse out the window to see the sky was still tinted lavender. He gave the not yet risen sun a smug grin before storming out his room, washed up and dressed with the speed of a fire spark, and went to retrieve his bow and arrows. He attached Eunbaem’s trinket to the necklace he always wore underneath his robes, and held it tightly in his hand before shooting his first arrow, hitting the red dot in the heart of the target. He consumed a big portion of his energy on the shooting grounds, until he ran out of arrows, and some ended up broken. After that, he rushed back to the morning assembly, but once he opened the gates, every governor and officer were at their place, the drums were yet to beat, and Mingi and Jongho were already at their place at the palanquin.

“…Your Highness is quite in high spirits today, I see. Has something good happened?”

“Just,” He smiled, passing his bow and arrows to the officer, arranging his hair as he made his way to his place. “I feel like today is going to be a good one.” 

His mind had never felt so awake, and his eyes had not sparked so much vitality in a long time. As he was carried on his palanquin, he looked every officer in the eyes, and in a split second, he remembered all of their names.

At the end of the morning assembly, he stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for every subordinate to raise their heads. The wind was blowing gently through his crown. He crossed his hands at his back, chin high and proud, and ordered:

“I will be inspecting the guards’ weapons and combat skills today. Do alert them for me. They have until noon.”

All the voices rose in tandem. “As you command, Your Highness!”

By Hongjoong’s side during the inspection, there were always other martial artists and swordsmen, as there were still some who thought that he was incompetent of evaluating on his own because he was still so young. He wore his father’s robe, scarlet, with gold embroidered dragons, and his hair was tied back, his _crown_ rested on his head. His father used to tell him that all men must wear tall hats because they are said to be associated with mountains, tall and honourable. And that was why he must always wear his. As strict as the former king was with him, he had once said that his crown was that of fire, and it rose higher when the winds were stronger. Hongjoong cherished those words, and more often than not, he only wore a headband.

He watched the guards demonstrate their skills by sparring with each other using wooden practice swords and spears. As much as it was an inspection which Hongjoong treated with utmost seriousness, a part of him did it for purposes of entertainment as well. He held his hands clenched at his back, digging crescents in his palm. Whenever he wanted to open his mouth to comment on something that was to be improved, the swordsman to his right was always ahead of him.

Hongjoong raised his chin and pretended to approve. He watched the guards show their war defensive tactics, intercalating shield bearers with spearmen. Their formation was precise and clean, their eyes omnipresent. While they sparred, they appeared to be dancing. They were graceful and distracting for their opponent, like a mesmerising serpent before lunging forward and biting. In the second half, they switched to real weapons, to test their efficacy and sharpness. Overall, Hongjoong appeared to be pleased, besides the fact that the blades did not seem to blind the opponent when reflected in the sun. He instructed them to polish their blades until they saw their reflection in them.

As the inspection seemed to come to an end, Hongjoong descended the stairs and walked over to the platform. “Master,” He said, eyeing the swordsman. “Spar with me.”

He opened his mouth, his jaw nearly dropping. “Y-Your Highness?”

“Master Kwon Seongjong, are you afraid?” He provoked him, while picking up two wooden swords, already tossing one to his opponent.

“No, Your Highness, I-”

“Then what seems to be the problem?”

In the crowd, the court officials sighed in defeat, their faces buried in their palms, while whispering ‘I feel my blood pressure rising, someone please stop him’.

Hongjoong held the sword’s grip, switching from one hand to another while his opponent was getting ready. “Someone give the signal.” He commanded, and with the drumbeat, Hongjoong charged forward, his teeth grit, with the flames in his hair swaying gently. Seongjong blocked him, his sword crossing over Hongjoong’s, and the king leapt back. With a roar, the swordsman lunged forward, aimlessly thrusting his sword in an attempt to tire Hongjoong’s vision and arms, and with every diversion, he guided the king towards the edge of the platform. Hongjoong’s jaw was clenched tightly, that he felt his teeth shattering over his tongue. When Seongjong raised his sword above his head, going in for a clean hew, Hongjoong’s sword rung like a flute as he swung it right over the swordsman’s hands, making his weapon fly away somewhere among the crowd, and the force of the wind made him stagger backwards, stumble over himself and fall on the ground. Hongjoong panted quietly, sweeping back the stray strands out of his face, his sword shaking in his hand. He walked over to his master, tilting his chin up with the tip of the sword. “I am not. Too. Young. I will fight you again. I will fight everyone in this court if I must!” His voice resonated like an eagle’s call, echoing far beyond the palace gates, reducing every nobleman to a prey.

He dropped his sword and bowed before his opponent before going to retrieve his crown.

Somewhere, over the roof of a watchtower, a mountain spirit with a parasol over his head was watching.


	2. Barefoot In The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He looked towards the mountain every night, and although his human eyesight wasn’t as sharp as a spirit’s, he saw a blue light that travelled along the path to the mountaintop, not blinking until it faded. The night was death quiet, but there was the blood rushing through him he could listen to. Blood that ran thickly through him, like it wasn’t his. He curled his toes inside his boots, the soles of his feet burning to run to get his horse and return to the mountain. The cave."

There was an informal rule that Hongjoong implemented, which said that he must never be escorted if he went on night strolls so long as it was within the palace grounds. He was as strict with his time alone as his father had once been with his books. His time alone with the trees was something he did not want to be written about.

He knew the path he walked like he had been the one who built it, and that is why he walked with his eyes closed. Guards were at every entrance and tower, and they were to act as the king was a ghost. He refused to be accompanied by any light. If the moon was merciful enough to shed her light, then he welcomed it. But he welcomed the obscure just as much. He was young and alone and had no sense of danger.

When he was far enough from the eyes of the guards, he would take off his robe and climb trees as swiftly as a leopard cat, high until the weight of the branches could not carry him.

That night he took nothing with him. No woodworking tools to carve himself a spear, no book, and no sword. He sat on a branch and enjoyed the view of the palace at night, and little of the city with its pale lights. He had gotten bored of that view, but it was better than any view he’d ever gotten with his feet on the ground. He liked being in high places where the wind would reach first and the fire last. He could strip off his robe and bear a different name, and no one would know.

The first half of the following day he was going to spend teaching and worshipping his ancestors, and who knew what there was to do for the latter part.

When he was a child and his father was teaching him about all the power he had been born with, he told him ‘Everything you set your eyes on will be yours, when I will be no more’, but he didn’t understand. He nodded, and pointed at the frogs in the pond, asking if they were his as well. The concept of everything had been too much for him. Even after he buried his father and fasted for days, it felt too much. From tectonic plates to edifices to philosophies, ethical and social, everything that lied within that territory was his. Alone. He prayed to his ancestors, but they never came forward, because they all knew he did not believe enough.

And one day he thought that being up in a tree and looking far in the distance would help him see what he truly owned. He could not see the neighbour cities from up there, so they must have not belonged to him until he set foot there. 

Then came the river, the mountain, and the treetops. The mountain that he’s never been on, but has, however, been inside. He smiled, remembering. Days had passed since he saw Eunbaem. Maybe little over a week. And not a single night had passed without him not dreaming about good things. At first, it was just a landscape. Then he saw himself flying. Then he became able to control where he flew. And when he wanted to fall, he couldn’t. There was always something keeping him in the air, soaring and travelling.

A rustle came from behind him, sharp like that of a startled squirrel. Hongjoong jerked his head to face it, and before him stood a bright creature with an umbrella in his hands, with the cord around his waist and the hems of his robes floating like paper lanterns. Hongjoong gasped, wanting to draw away from it, but the heel of his hand slipped across the tree branch, and he found himself falling forward. Then a hand grasped his forearm and pulled him back. “Careful, now.” Said a honey voice, with a soft lisp which made it seem even more unbearably sweet.

“You’re here.” Hongjoong stuttered, swallowing until his mouth went dry. “Why?”

Eunbaem’s feet were still bare and a soft clink came from the decorations in his hair. Hongjoong wished he saw him in broad daylight. “I noticed you.”

With a nod, Hongjoong shifted closer to the tree trunk, although there was enough room. Too courteous for his own good, Eunbaem accepted the subtle invitation and sat down, closing his bangasa and making it vanish again. “Why do you carry an umbrella with you during nighttime?”

“I like having something to carry in my hands,” Eunbaem replied. He stargazed, and Hongjoong saw a faint smile on his lips. He wished the moon was merciful. “I didn’t want to keep you.”

“Keep me?”

“I thought you wanted to be alone.”

Hongjoong looked down, at his legs balancing in the air. His boots were restricting. “You don’t remind me of the palace. You can stay.”

“Oh, so if I was a minister,”

“I would order you to leave.”

Eunbaem smiled. He balanced his legs in the same rhythm as Hongjoong. “Do you often wander off on your own like this?”

“Yes. I like being here…not wearing the robe.”

At that, Eunbaem eyed him, and Hongjoong thought he should have straightened his back earlier on. His hunched, sloppy form did not denote royalty. “I noticed you’re also not too fond of topknots.”

“That I am not.”

“If I had hair like yours, I too would not tie it.”

“You don’t tie your hair either.”

“No. Unless I must. It’s part of my symbols.” Hongjoong looked at his attire in however much detail the dark would spare him. There was probably just one more layer of clothing underneath his overcoat. He wore more decorations in his hair and around his waist than the last time they’ve met. Then he remembered the little trinket Eunbaem lost. Hongjoong pulled it out from under his shirt and dangled it joyfully. “Oh, there it is. I’ve been wondering where I lost it.”

“Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“So then you didn’t lose it at all.”

“I did. I lose things all the time. I don’t like owning many things. Besides the ones I stole a dynasty ago. Those are precious to me. The oldest I have is a twelfth-century right-hand Buddhist scroll. Colour on silk. A stunning piece.”

“You do realise that’s important to our cultural heritage, and it should in no way live in a mountain cave.”

“I- I do. I wanted to give it back to Cultural Affairs. I just…didn't have time.” 

“You didn’t have time. In seven centuries.”

“…No?”

Hongjoong sighed. “Alright, but first you show them to me. Then you give them back to the state.”

“I did not expect the king to let me get away with it.”

“I know you have a reputation for stealing art and historical artefacts, but I’m starting to doubt it’s not just that. I have a feeling you’ve been restoring them too. Because if you steal something so precious, there must be something you want to gain from it. I doubt you stole them for yourself.”

“Well, render me speechless. Has His Highness been researching on me? You speak so empathically. I’m impressed.”

“You told me spirits are good natured. Then, I am allowed to interpret you like poetry and find something good in whatever illegality you may have committed.”

“If this is how things are going to be, then I suggest a deal. Whenever I do something I’m not proud of, I will come to you to tell me what the good in it was so you can make me feel better about myself.”

Hongjoong chuckled in response, and softly elbowed Eunbaem. A comfortable silence dusked over them, with neither indicating anything of wanting to leave each other’s presence. Hongjoong looked at the sky and thought about how there were not many things he could talk about. He did not have the knowledge of what another person his age would have. His body was trapped in the mind of a much older man, and that often left him confused when he looked at himself in the mirror. He tried reading Eunbaem without looking too much at him, but he was too timid to do so. Eunbaem smiled at the moon, and wider when he looked towards the mountain. Hongjoong loved the silence between them more than he loved the one he refuged to every night. “I wish you were happier.” The spirit said.

The dark before Hongjoong was as thick as him trying to see through five pairs of eyelids, but he knew he met Eunbaem’s eyes with absolute certainty. “Me?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about you saying you come and sit here often. By yourself.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”

“I didn’t say you were unhappy. I said I wished you were just a little happier. I lived through many reigns, and I remember every king before you. And every time it saddened me more to know that there were so many who were denied a childhood.” Hongjoong agreed with a delayed hum. He almost slipped back into the same place, but his heart smiled when received empathy.

“That should not be enough to make you sad. As long as there is a royal family, one will have to bear the burden so the other person would not have to.”

“…No wonder you caught the eye of so many.”

“I have?”

“You have. Our king is quite popular overseas. Must be why our international relations are going so well.” 

“ _Has Eunbaem been researching on me?_ ” Hongjoong mimicked Eunbaem’s tone, and in exchange, the spirit nudged him back.

“Well, living in this society counts as research. The king will always be the most popular topic.” He said. Hongjoong knew, because the noblemen at the palace made sure to let him know. They shared the unfavourable rumours as well, but packaged much sweetly. He knew his people feared he was too young and too vulnerable, even after having done in three years of reigning what his father had done in twelve. Often when his subordinates looked at him, he could tell they all saw his father, and were proud of him as King Hyeokjong’s son, instead of his own name. In those moments, Hongjoong lacked the authority to threaten them to cut their tongues, and felt a presence behind him, like he ruled in someone’s shadow.

Tired of the same thoughts, Hongjoong yawned. Eunbaem lifted himself and appeared to throw himself off the branch, but levitated at Hongjoong’s eye level. “Perhaps it’s time for you to rest.” 

Hongjoong scoffed, and jumped off the branch with such ease, and so gracefully on his feet, that Eunbaem’s metaphorical heart skipped a beat. “What makes you think I will sleep?”

“Knowing that you are wise enough to know that you should.”

Not willing to admit defeat even in the most trivial of moments, Hongjoong walked away. He robed himself, leaving the cord loose. Eunbaem flew above him close, until the first palace guard was in sight. “Will you accompany me again?” Hongjoong asked, his voice melancholic and hopeful.

“I would love to.”

Hongjoong felt him smiling, and turned around. One moment before he vanished. And the scent of exotic flowers flooded his airways. So powerfully sweet, that if he closed his eyes, he would find himself a sailor in the sea that was the sky, where petals rained as wildly as they did in spring. 

He climbed the same tree for the following nights, and during some, he even brought a light, but Eunbaem never came. He closed his eyes and continued waiting with the lamp in his lap, trying to summon the thought of Eunbaem like he had done nights before, but to no avail. He looked towards the mountain every night, and although his human eyesight wasn’t as sharp as a spirit’s, he saw a blue light that travelled along the path to the mountaintop, not blinking until it faded. The night was death quiet, but there was the blood rushing through him he could listen to. Blood that ran thickly through him, like it wasn’t his. He curled his toes inside his boots, the soles of his feet burning to run to get his horse and return to the mountain. The cave. The pond with the magical lilies. 

The night he realised he couldn’t, he pitied himself, and he went to bed before the thought would settle. But sleep being his last option to prevent self-pity also resulted in self-pity.

On the fourth day of not having seen Eunbaem, Hongjoong ordered to have shooting targets set up, and his horse prepared. Knowing what the king was up to, the palace servants obeyed, but it was the guards only who shared his enthusiasm. There was no set time of year when Hongjoong organised horseback archery displays, and when he did, it was because he wanted to boast. This was his secret.

He sat at the beginning of the path, with a bow in his hand, and caressing the horse’s mane with the other. His hair was tied, a headband held back all the rebel strands, and before mounting his horse, he took his hat off. His quiver was loaded with five arrows, and his arm guard was tight around his sleeve. The leader of the palace guards was the first one to display his skill, as he was the one Hongjoong was most curious about. He was only interested in surpassing him. 

He calculated time and distance, running his hand through the arrows’ feathers. He gave his horse his cue to start galloping, then came the vocal command to encourage him to accelerate. Hongjoong untangled his hand from around the reins, and sitting up from the saddle with only the stirrups to support him, he loaded his first arrow, grinning until his lip bled when the target tore in half. He tucked his lip between his teeth, sucking on the blood as he released his second arrow, biting it harder when it hit only the second circle. His hair slapped the wind out of his path, the growl in his throat sent the flying dust back under the ground, and the third target was long gone and shattered. With his abdomen muscles tense and burning, and his fingers red from pinching the bowstring, he released his last arrow, which shattered both the target and its stand. Laughing at his triumph, he patted the horse’s neck, before loading his last arrow. With his eyes on the mountain peak, he released it.

Adrenaline coursed through him like the shiver of ice against skin during summer. He closed his eyes, waiting and listening for the sound of the arrow hitting the forest ground. And when it never happened, he smiled, and finally wiped the blood from his mouth.

He praised his men as much as his men praised him, but he basked in the glory of being admired by one pair of eyes which only he could see. And after the celebration that came afterwards, he bathed and ate. For the first time in years, he felt like he wasn’t alone. His muscles were hurting, but they were hurting good, and his fingers pulsating in need of more. He spent hours replaying the day in his mind, while following the shadow of a lost moth against the ceiling, and listening to the crickets harmonising outside his window. Those were sounds he could not fall asleep without.

That same night, little before the darkest hour, he was woken up by the sound of shuffling outside his room. His hearing kindled at its brightest even before his sight did, and he instinctively reached for his sword, always lying by his bed. Soon, the noises, even louder, could be heard from outside, somewhere beyond the gates. He quickly tied his hair back, fixed his sword to his hip, and slunk outside the door.

“Your Highness!” Mingi yelled, but in his half asleep state, Hongjoong drew his sword in panic. “It’s me. It’s alright.”

“What is happening?” He demanded, already rushing towards the gate.

“Please return to your room, Your Highness. It’s not safe.”

“And I demand you tell me what-” His words trailed off, his eyes now on the commotion in the courtyard.

One by one, the guards turned around, giving Mingi a hellish glare. “Were you not told to protect the king?!”

But as Mingi wanted to open his mouth to speak, Hongjoong raised his hand as a gesture for them to stop.

Before the crowd of guards and councillors, lied a man in blue robes. His head had been severed from his body, and his clothes were torn over his chest, like someone wanted to cut through. Hongjoong was informed that the man’s head had not been found yet, but there were trails of blood leading several metres away from the palace grounds. Right next to him, lied another man, another headless guard, but he did not look like he had put much of a fight. His clothes were almost intact, aside from the blood staining his robes up to his chest. 

Hongjoong placed his fist over his mouth to stop himself from gagging at the sight, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat, looking away from the corpses as he ordered: “Call the forensic investigators and county governor and find out who did this.” But as he finished, the front gates flung open, and four horsemen barged in dragging a bleeding man after them. As the head guard dismounted his horse, he grabbed the man by the nape of his neck and tossed him at Hongjoong’s feet. “We’ve managed to catch one of them, Your Highness. There were two others, and one of them was badly injured.”

Hongjoong gripped the sword’s hilt, his breath burning in his throat. “Lock him up.”

The king was sat on a chair before the prisoner who was chained up against the wall. Blood was dripping from his head and lower lip. His breath was draughty and his fingertips were blue from lack of circulation. Hongjoong’s sword rested on his lap, waiting for the prisoner to make up his mind to start speaking. However, with every particle of dust he was inhaling, he was losing his patience. People knew what they were talking about when they said he inherited his father’s anger management issues.

“I won’t kill you if that’s what worries you.”

The prisoner lifted his head, his mouth opened and drooling like a donkey’s. “Y-You won’t?”

“No. I’ll have strands of your hair pulled out. One by one. I’ll have your fingernails torn out and molten iron poured over what’s left of them. I’ll have a cage wrapped around your face for the starving rats to feed on you. I have a lot to offer. Now speak. Who sent you?”

The prisoner whimpered, clenching and unclenching his fist to elevate the tension. 

Hongjoong tapped his finger against the wooden chair, and the silence in the cell made the sounds torturous. He sighed, gesturing to Jongho. “Cut his thumb off.”

“No! No, Your Majesty, please! Please, I’ll do anything!”

Jongho waited until he finished screaming, giving the king one last look. When Hongjoong had not ordered otherwise, Jongho pinned the prisoner’s hand down on the ground and thrust the tip of his dagger right through the man’s metacarpal bone. He held his hand down, scrunching his nose at the way the man screamed. Low and pitiful.

“Suh…South! I cuh- come from the south! Lord Sungjo sent me! It- It was…Luh-Lord Sungjo!” He cried, snot running down his mouth, and tears spilling heartlessly down his filthy face. “Your brother!” 

Hongjoong furrowed his eyebrows and gave Jongho a questioning look. “Brother.”

The man nodded erratically, letting out one ear-piercing scream when Jongho pulled the blade out. He gave the king a worried look.

“The king’s…His firstborn! His first son! The true crown prince!”

Hongjoong’s blood began boiling in his veins; he was grateful for Jongho shackling him back up without needing to be told so. He turned on his heels, slamming every door shut, and slapping away every question and commentary that came his way.

His feet stomped onto the dusty ground as he rushed to the queen’s palace. He saw a pale light flickering from her window, and only then he ordered to have the doors open for him. 

“Your Royal Highness!” Hongjoong shouted, running towards his grandmother’s rooms.

The guards immediately opened the doors for him, and he saw his grandmother in her purple overcoat, lighting the candles by her bed. “Please forgive me for intruding.” Hongjoong kowtowed at her feet, huffing quietly.

“You may rise,” His grandmother said, her voice as serene as spring waters. “I wonder if what you have to say was worth waking the spirits up.” She tilted her head towards the little altar she had by the window, with porcelain bowls filled with offerings.

Her sixth sense was that of knowing if Hongjoong was asleep, no matter how far apart they were, and she would never close her eyes before he did. In moments like those, she was thankful for it. It was not the first time when the night did not allow him to rest, and he visited her.

“There’s been two deaths, Your Royal Highness. Two of our guards were beheaded. I sent people to investigate. I’ve been interrogating the one prisoner we’ve found and…”

“And?”

“They said they’re from the south, _grandmother_. They were sent by a nobleman who claims to be my brother.”

The queen dowager smiled, picking up her teacup with so much gentleness, that it seemed to be afloat in her hands. She was old, but unbeaten by time, and her fingers were still slender and youthful. 

“I don’t…I don’t have a brother, do I?”

Queen Lady Suyang was the late king’s mother, and the one who was not allowed to shelter Hongjoong’s eyes from his parents' death. They started bonding only after the queen passed away.

She gently shut the lamp’s lid, placing it at the edge of her table. She was weak of sight, but her other senses were impeccable.

“Sungjo is the late king’s illegitimate son. He was not always the king you revered so much, Your Highness. He did plenty of things that the historians had to be threatened with flogging so they won’t write down. One of these things was to have a child with a woman he had not yet married. But in the end, he was forced to marry her out of shame. However, after she birthed the child, she took him with her south out of pride and jealousy. Quite a clever woman, hiding herself from the king’s men for almost a lifetime. She was young. Too young.”

Hongjoong’s hands were trembling with a feeling he could not express, or knew where to place. He felt nauseous with the fear of having lived a lie, and anger of having been betrayed. “They had him…before.”

The queen dowager felt the frustration in Hongjoong’s voice, and watched him quietly until he straightened his shoulders back and resumed his prideful posture. “Yes.”

“But why was she jealous?”

“Because her son had not pure royal blood. The true crown prince was you, the one the queen had.”

“And why wait until now?”

“He knows that you are to be marrying soon. But that is only my assumption.” And her assumptions were very often accurate. “And as he who thinks that he is rightful to the throne, seeks to stop that.”

“He seeks to end my bloodline because his mother chose to run away.”

“Yes. She refused to birth to a son who was not to be a crown prince. Your father resented the child nonetheless. Your Highness, it was chaos before you were born. The night you let out your first cry was a very violent one. Fires and storms. But the day after was the serenest day we’ve ever had. It was like your birth had cleansed us of all evils.”

“Ah, I’m sure it wasn’t like that.”

“It was. You were and are everyone’s pride. I wish you saw that.”

Hongjoong looked downcast, taking in the reassuring words, but soon he raised his chin back up with a serious expression. “But, Your Royal Highness, what do you suggest I do?”

“How unusual it is for you to feel so lost…I don’t think you’ve ever asked other people what you should do.”

“I know. Forgive me. I am indeed lost. I haven’t registered what you’ve told me. It feels unreal.”

The queen dowager lifted her head, inhaling the scent of the incense sticks. Behind her, there was a lotus tapestry, with every petal unfolded like wings, and she symmetrically sat in the middle.

“There might be a snake lurking around. A snake in the form of a servant, maybe.”

Hongjoong’s blood ran cold. “But we haven’t had anyone new around for years.”

“Don’t forget that Sungjo is much older than you. He had years ahead to plan everything. His mother as well.”

“And…And how do I find this treasonist?”

She softly blew into her tea once before taking a short sip. Her hair ornaments dangled gently. “Snakes can sense each other.”

Hongjoong furrowed his eyebrows at the vagueness of the sentence. He did not have the time to solve riddles when his people were in danger. But as he leaned forward to reach for his sword, the trinket from around his neck dangled like a bell, and the candlelight made it glint. Hongjoong grabbed the pendant tight in his palm, raised his eyes back to meet his grandmother’s “Eunbaem,” snatched his sword and left.

He made his way to the stables and ordered to have his horse prepared.

“Your Majesty, let us escort you.”

“No. I need you to take your men and find the one who’s been injured.”

And it continued like that until he was ready to go. People liked to call him reckless, but Hongjoong probably did not even know what that meant in his case. He was praised only when making decisions that worked for everyone, but when he wanted to take initiative and do things on his own, he was suddenly reckless and childish.

“If you don’t give me my horse, I’ll go on foot. Do not challenge me.”

The best part about him threatening his subordinates was that it was always efficient. It was the only way for him to get things done in his own terms.

Before anyone would even have time to ask where he was headed to, he was already on his way. Through the same path in the forest, the same willow shroud, and little beyond it. It had not occurred to him yet that his grandmother was the one who implied seeking Eunbaem’s help. A part of him was reluctant in going, thinking that spirits are evanescent, and places could become their illusions. The trinket hanging from his neck was beating along with his heart, no matter how insane people thought he was.

He dismounted his horse and made his way into the cave, much slower than last time, as he forgot the number of stairs, and how abrupt they were. “Eunbaem,” he whispered, his echo resonated throughout the cave. He crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his hands warm. The cave was much humid and colder than last time. “Eunbaem, if…if you’re around, please. It’s me. Um. Hongjoong.” He waited, but the only one in there with him was the ghost of his own breath as he spoke. He heard shuffling outside, and he turned his head towards the faint light of the entrance. Then one by one, the candles started lighting up, but this time, the flames were bright blue. They formed a circle around the stairs and walls, one candle on every shelf. Hongjoong watched the rosary beads and the vessels glowing sapphire, like the treasure caverns in children’s stories. He smiled, eyeing each artefact individually, how softly the light flickered, and the shadows along with them.

The sound of an animal’s growl came from behind him. He turned around, eyes sharp, to see a white fox with gleaming blue eyes gritting its fangs at him. Hongjoong stepped back, reaching for his sword, as the fox revealed all of its sharp teeth, taking one cautious step towards him. Until the fox lifted its head, eyes now as soft as a deer’s. It took a step forward, tipping its ears back, and made a soft whine. Hongjoong sat down on one knee and showed his palm for the fox to sniff. But instead, the fox licked his fingers, shifting closer to Hongjoong, and leaned its paw on his knee, gently wagging its tail. Another whine, even higher, escaped its throat. “Eunbaem? Is this you?” Hongjoong asked, scratching the nape of the fox’s neck. Its furs were as soft as feathers, and warm. It leapt up, now both of its forepaws on Hongjoong’s knee, its tail wagging livelier. “I came to speak to you.” The fox tilted its head, making a soft sound, like a squeak. “I need you to hear me out on something.”

The fox stepped away from him, closed its eyes, as a white, blizzard-like, whirl lifted from the ground. The fox’s body was enveloped in this flurry of white, too bright for human eyes. Next time Hongjoong opened them, before him lied the same ethereal looking young boy, with long, honey hair, kept in a braid over his shoulder. That time he wore soft yellow robes, almost matching the colour of his hair. Eunbaem clapped his hands, and the lights in the cave became white. The bright colour did Eunbaem’s skin justice. Hongjoong felt like it was not his choice to stare.

“You almost drew your sword at me.”

“But I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“I know. Are you well? What happened?”

Hongjoong looked downcast, at the dust on his shoes, lips opening and closing, unsure how to start his story. Eunbaem placed his finger under Hongjoong’s chin, tilting it upwards. They joined hands, then Eunbaem invited him to have a seat.

He listened as Hongjoong recited him the story his grandmother told him earlier, faithfully to the way she told it. But now that Hongjoong was saying it out loud did he realise how many holes the story had. He told Eunbaem everything, even the way the corpses looked. He only left out the detail about snakes sensing each other, as he did not know if Eunbaem would find that insulting.

Eunbaem seemed unfazed, as if he knew the story already, or knew something Hongjoong had not found out yet. The way Eunbaem looked at him was like someone did when they finally put the two pieces of the same story together.

“And I still don’t know everything.” Hongjoong concluded, his hand shaking with anger against the sword’s hilt.

Eunbaem stood up and faced Hongjoong, as if he knew exactly what to do.

“This is something I can assist you with.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can become…something of a guardian spirit.”

There was a reason why the darkest hour of the night was considered the most magical. It was an hour where candles lit blue and entire constellations fell past the surface of the Earth and made miracles such as these happen. Everything worked too smoothly in his favour, and he was unsure how to feel about it.

“And what does that imply? What is the price I have to pay?”

“Price?” Eunbaem sat down at his desk.

“Well, you are lending me your power. You did not specify for how long, or what will happen in the meantime, but I am guessing it was never this simple. There has to be something I have to give you in exchange. And I do not mean offerings and human hearts.”

Eunbaem smiled, setting aside his rosary beads and incense burner. “There is nothing. I am a mountain spirit, not a deity. I am not as high maintenance. I offer my powers to those I deem worthy. I do, however, accept offerings, now that you mention it. Anyone can use a new hairpin.”

Hongjoong locked eyes with the spirit, his glare piercing. “And what made me worthy?”

Eunbaem took the rosary beads in his hands, examining the rough texture of the jewels. He clenched his fist, the beads almost shattering in his hold. Hongjoong thought that even that move was too rough for Eunbaem.

“Lending you my power implies that I have to place a part of me within you. Within a part of you that regenerates.”

“Regenerates.” He brushed aside the fact that he ignored his question.

“Yes. Your liver.”

Hongjoong pressed his teeth together so his jaw won’t drop at the seriousness and ease which Eunbaem spoke with.

“And…And how will you do that?”

“You will have to cut your liver open for me to enter.”

Hongjoong felt the same wave of nausea returning, and this time it had much higher chances of crashing.

Not long ago, he promised that there would not be a single thing he would not do for his people. If there was a way, and that way was within his power, there would be no second option for him. He would be willing to go even against his father’s word.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“…You’re right, you don’t have any form of assurance, other than my word. I know this is a lot to ask, which is why I will not force you to do this.”

“This is not how I planned to die.”

Eunbaem shook his head, standing back up. “It will only hurt for a moment. I will be sure to put you to sleep right after. And I will have my remedies prepared, although usually forming this kind of bond leaves no scars behind. But once again, I will not ask anything of you.” He made his way to the cave entrance. “I will go consult with my brother one last time. You have enough to decide.”

The righteous side of him knew there was nothing to decide over. The pragmatic side of him, however, raised a lot of questions he did not have an answer to. He blindly trusted a mythical creature whom he knew little about, yet he trusted so much. He could have used that bond as an excuse for him to feed on his flesh while he was asleep. Maybe his face was also a mean of deceiving.

He stood up, walking in circles around the cave. He removed his overcoat, throwing it over the table. It was rare for him to have doubt billow his mind.

Hongjoong never cared for dreams, or anything that was not palpable for that matter. Eunbaem, unfortunately for him, was palpable. And the way he spoke of dreams and visions, made Hongjoong see the world through his eyes. And with the way that night had gone for the king, he started to believe it more and more. He had a half brother who wanted him dead, and now a mountain spirit was telling him to cut his liver open for him to plant who knows what in there.

That only happened in dreams.

“Well?” Eunbaem said, and Hongjoong came back into his right mind.

He nodded, his fists clenched.

Eunbaem leaned a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re afraid. And that’s alright. I will make this as painlessly for you as I can.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, taking in the spirit’s calming touch, and placed his hands over his. “Alright.”

Eunbaem let him go, although his touch still lingered.

In the back of the cave there was a large wooden crate filled with thick fabrics. Eunbaem laid down two mattresses, covering them in several layers of bed sheets, and another smaller fabric underneath where Hongjoong would lie.

He removed his last shirt, and went to lie down, his heart thrumming mercilessly, almost clouding his vision with fear. Besides him, Eunbaem laid a silver dagger, its blade gleaming like polished glass.

“Can you guide my hand where I should…” He trailed off, focusing on regaining the rhythm of his breaths.

Eunbaem was indeed beside him, one hand on the king’s, and the other one caressing his shoulder. Hongjoong felt the tip of the dagger over his skin. His fingers were coiled around the iron hilt. His eyes fell closed, but not before taking in Eunbaem’s encouraging smile and words.

With one last sharp intake of breath, Hongjoong thrust the blade down into his abdomen, overwhelmed with a pain greater than every force of nature coming together, and more powerful than any lightning that’s ever struck a fire. His scream rung throughout the cave, quaking the earthenware.

What he saw last was a bright, heavenly light, and the image of Eunbaem reaching for the dagger.

The next time Hongjoong opened his eyes, the light seemed much brighter than before, and the cave was too quiet. His lower body was covered in a fur blanket, but what warmed his hands up was a white fox sleeping across his chest. He was too afraid to move, not to trigger any possible pain, and not to wake Eunbaem up, but his finger twitched involuntarily, and the fox raised his ears. He eyed Hongjoong and stood up to nose at his hands and neck while squeaking in joy. Hongjoong wanted to caress him, but his entire body felt too heavy. Even his eyelids as he blinked.

Eunbaem jumped off the bed and metamorphosed back into his human form. “How are you feeling?”

Hongjoong attempted to speak, but his throat was painfully dry. He nodded instead, raising his hand for Eunbaem to hold.

“You can move. The pain should have subsided by now.” The spirit said, taking Hongjoong’s hand between his.

He wiggled his toes underneath the blanket, then bent his knees. He placed his hands on his sides and slowly pulled himself up. He sat up, holding his hand over his abdomen, although the pain was nowhere nearly as excruciating. There was only a dull one, a numbness. Eunbaem already had a cup of water ready for him, which Hongjoong downed in one sip. The room swung before Hongjoong’s eyes, like a tumultuous ocean, and he was suddenly seasick. When he closed his eyes, he found himself losing his balance.

“You kept your promise.” He touched the right side of his abdomen. He was wrapped up, although there were no bloodstains around him anymore.

“Of course I did. I also hope this came as an answer to your doubts.” Eunbaem held a knife in his hand. He kneeled before Hongjoong and slowly cut the bandages around him, to see his skin clear of any lacerations. But on his right side, where the cut was, lied a blue circle with a symbol in the centre of it, resembling a swirl.

“It did. My mind feels very liberated. How long have I been asleep for?”

“I have no concept of time anymore, so I’m not sure. The sun hasn’t risen yet.” Eunbaem rested his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, sliding it down his arm. “You did well. I feel…strangely proud of you. How long did you feel the pain for?”

“Not too long.”

Eunbaem bowed his head and went to fetch Hongjoong’s clothes.

“So what will happen now? Will you come back with me to the palace?” Hongjoong asked, pulling his first shirt over his head and tucking it into his trousers.

“If you’ll have me, yes. If you don’t, I’ll be nearby lest you need me.”

Eunbaem held Hongjoong’s robe open for him to put on.

“I don’t think I could send you away. Not after you saw me stab my liver.”

Hongjoong saw the corners of the spirit’s lips arching up in a smile. He adjusted the cord around Hongjoong’s waist, focused on the sophisticated bow he was trying to make.

Eunbaem was slightly taller, now that they were sitting so close to each other, but not enough for Hongjoong to have to tilt his chin up. He tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” He adjusted the cord one more time and tilted his head, impressed by his own meticulosity. “Now that we’ve formed this bond, I will have to start feeding.”

“You only feed when you’ve bonded?”

“…I’ve never bonded before, but I have left parts of myself with people I protected. Think of it as…a dam that’s holding back a flow of energy. And what’s inside your liver right now is a sliver of that dam. I, on the other hand, have to feed on someone else’s energy in order to prevent any…leakage. Does that make sense to you?”

“When you say someone else’s energy, what exactly are you referring to?”

“I need to feed on a human heart and a human liver, is what I’m referring to.”

Hongjoong blinked. “Pardon me?”

“I’m sure you understood. It doesn’t have to be someone alive. It can also be dead.”

“I-” Hongjoong stuttered. A part of him feared for his own safety, although Eunbaem’s eyes, however mystical, were gentle.

“As much as it pains me to say this…there’s always a dead person lying somewhere. Someone who hung themselves. Someone who had an even more unfortunate death. I hate those livers, by the way, they taste bad. They’re filled with sorrow. And poison has a horrible after taste.” 

A heavy silence fell over the cave, with Eunbaem’s words still echoing on the stone walls, as well as within Hongjoong’s ears. He didn’t know what poison tasted like, as he was not even allowed to eat before his maids checked and tasted the food first, let alone a human heart.

His mind was filled with images of Eunbaem tearing a heart apart with his bare teeth, blood spilling down his neck, and the same haunting picture of him stabbing his own liver. He felt his blood draining from his cheeks, and his nausea seemed to be so evident, that Eunbaem reached to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry. I will keep the gory details to myself next time.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “I was thinking about how a benign creature like you could ever shred a human apart. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

“You have enough to learn about me. I wonder if I have any other secrets that will frighten you even more?” His hands crept lower, to Hongjoong’s shoulders, his thumbs reaching his neck. Eunbaem would be the first ever to touch him there. What Hongjoong never expected was for his knees to grow weak. Or maybe it was the nausea.

“Few things frighten me.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?” Eunbaem asked, his voice playful.

Hongjoong smiled brightly, and touched Eunbaem’s nose. “It is.”

Eunbaem arched an eyebrow, impressed at the king’s sudden boldness.

“Should we head back, then?” He asked, and Hongjoong nodded.

Before they were on their way, Eunbaem gave the cave one last look. He held his palm under his chin, and blew softly. Out of nowhere, a swirl of feathers streamed from his hand, covering the cave’s entrance, and blending in with the stone and the plants growing around, until there was nothing left of the entrance.

“You said one of the men escaped, yes?”

“So I was told. And that one was injured, so I am assuming he did not make it far. I sent men after him.”

Eunbaem floated around Hongjoong, lying down and staring at the dark sky, with one arm at the nape of his neck, and the other one holding his fan over his chest. And he caught up with Hongjoong as well, no matter how fast he went, sometimes even going ahead of him.

Hongjoong’s heart was too conflicted to enjoy the sight, but not conflicted enough not to appreciate his presence. He didn’t understand what the bond between the two implied, but he already felt like he wordlessly shared a part of his burden with the spirit.

“I think you’ll like it at the palace. There’s always something entertaining happening if you know where to look. Or the pavilion. And the gardens. I believe you’ll enjoy these the most.”

“I think so too. I love being around people.” Eunbaem agreed. “And you. I know you enjoy…letting your hair down and free. You enjoy fighting and sparring. And new things that spark your interest. But there are not many things that you are curious about.”

“You kept an eye on me, didn’t you?”

“Was the least I could do when I couldn’t join you at nights.”

“Then I hope you enjoyed seeing me defeat everyone.”

“I very much did.”

“Would you like me to keep your presence secret? Or do you want me to introduce you to everyone?”

“My presence won’t be exactly easy to hide, knowing how many people work at the palace.”

“That is true. But there’s also the historian.”

“I forgot about him. Does he follow you everywhere?”

“Yes. But I do…run away from him sometimes.”

“Ah, I should have known.” Eunbaem chuckled. “I don’t mind you introducing me, so long as they return the respect I offer them.”

“I’ll be sure they will.”

That night, Hongjoong made a detour, going around the city, where there were not many people, or fields they worked in. Eunbaem flew ahead and plucked a snail stuck in the middle of the road, placing it back on a rock before getting crushed under the horse’s hoof. Hongjoong occasionally peeked at him, and he was always doing a different thing. He put a flower over the shell of Hongjoong’s ear, then he attempted to make a flower crown, but did not find enough flowers.

Eunbaem sat on the sill of a bridge, waiting for Hongjoong to catch up. The stars were starting to clear up, and the image of the moon still lingered in the river beneath.

“You saved me,” Eunbaem said, his hand fan rested against his lips. “Years ago.”

The spirit floated in place next to him as if he laid on a cloud, eyes on the river. Hongjoong turned to look at him, his head tilted quizzically. “I did?”

“Yes. You might not remember it. You were very small, but to me is was like it happened days go…You were out with your father. I was still in my snake form back then. Much smaller as well. I was weak and starved. Your father thought I was a threat and wanted to kill me, but you begged him not to. And now my time has come to return your act of kindness.”

Hongjoong’s brain made an independent decision to erase all memories of his parents. Not out of spite or hatred, but to ease the weight on his heart and shoulders. Sometimes the memory of their deaths would keep him awake at night or his mind astray from his duties. The death of the former king and queen was the beginning of a series of traumatic events for Hongjoong, one more scarring than the former, but when he was in a dark place, his senses would recollect the memories of his parents. His mother’s floral scent, the soft chime of her silver hairpins. His father’s natural scent was that of iron, for he was passionate in the arts of forging. Sometimes Hongjoong would see glimpses of green when he closed his eyes after a serene day.

He did not remember anything about his father wanting to kill a snake, but the image of a little silver serpent rung true in his heart. Over the years it became such a distant image, that he thought it was just a repressed memory. Or a dream.

“That was you?”

Eunbaem nodded, his eyes on the moonlit river. His blue eyes glinted like water ripples.

He waved his fan over his face, then down in an arch to his waist, and before Hongjoong there was now a thin, white snake, with shining, keeled scales and lapis lazuli eyes. He crawled up the bridge’s parapet and raised himself up high to the level of Hongjoong’s face. The king took a step back, but Eunbaem playfully drew closer, poking his pink tongue out. Hongjoong smiled, brushing the back of his finger across the snake’s head.

Eunbaem took it as a sign of approval to crawl closer to Hongjoong, coiling around his arm, and from there, around his shoulders. As uncomfortable as he was feeling, he clenched his fist and allowed it all to happen, remembering that Eunbaem was Eunbaem, no matter in which form.

“Yeosang,” Eunbaem said, still in his snake form.

“What?” Hongjoong asked, lifting the snake’s head up with his fingers.

“My name.”

“Your name is not Eunbaem?”

“Eunbaem is my title, along with many others: Weaver of Winds, Minstrel of the Monsoons, The North’s Silver Serpent, and the Four-Faced Snake…But my true name is Yeosang.”

Hongjoong hummed, his eyebrows raised. “Would you rather I called you Yeosang?”

“Yes. If you wish. It is only fair, as you told me your name too.” Yeosang said, resting his head on Hongjoong’s shoulders. They were bony and narrow and never have been put through the misery of wars. Yeosang found them comfortable.

“You honour me.” 

“I was raised to honour those of a higher rank than me.”

“…You needn’t be so formal.”

“I needn’t, but I should. Although I might slip sometimes, considering the way you’re talking to me.”

“How am I talking to you?”

“In a friendly manner. I almost forget you are royalty.” 

Hongjoong took the horse by his reins and strolled across the bridge, and along the river, almost losing direction of where he was supposed to go. The landscape before his eyes seemed to swing along with the wind, and with that, his stomach and sense of direction.

“It’s alright to rest if you’re not feeling well.”

As much as Hongjoong despised being cared for as if he was a toddler, there was no other way to escape the feeling that there was a hole in his abdomen, although his skin felt healthy when touch.

He sat down on a tree log, with the serpent’s head in the palm of his hand, while his horse drank and fed on apples that he could not get his eyes off of. “What’s his name?”

“Gureum.”

When Hongjoong was eighteen, he was gifted three horses as a tribute, but he was also warned that the one who sat in the middle was the most stubborn, and he was discouraged to choose him as his favourite. But Hongjoong (to no one’s surprise) did the exact opposite.

“He threw me off him so many times…I tried to befriend him, feed him, but he wouldn’t like me. I spent months trying to get him not to hate me. He was rearing a lot, and I often lost control of the reins, and I fell."

“And you got back up and tried again.”

“Of course I did. But what he’d do when I fell down was to circle me and watch me, and sometimes sniff me. But one day I fell again. My head started bleeding. I didn’t feel anything, but I had people screaming at me to seek medical help. But that was the day he actually sat down for me to mount him.”

“So you needed to break your skull for him to be your friend.”

“Yes. Sounds very much like you and I bonded, now that I think about it. Why must I always have a near death experience in order to make friends?”

“At least you know they’ll be with you forever that way.”

“That was not very subtle of you, now, was it?”

Yeosang crawled down Hongjoong’s chest, leg, and onto the ground, metamorphosing back into his human form, nearly leaving Hongjoong blind in the process.

“I did not mean that, but I suppose it applies to me too.”

This shapeshifting ritual that Hongjoong witnessed several times now never ceased to surprise him, and his heart would never miss the chance to skip a beat when meeting Yeosang’s eyes after no matter how long.

For the second half of their trip back, Yeosang rode with him, with his arms loosely around Hongjoong’s waist and his cheek on his shoulder. Hongjoong felt like he was sitting under a shadow, and Yeosang’s weighted as nothing more but dappled sun against him.

They reached the palace gates, and Yeosang lifted his head up, letting him know that he’ll meet him again once he’s ready. In the next second, he was gone. That was one thing Hongjoong refused to get used to.

He was bombarded with questions and worries from his guards, but he brushed them all away, promising to clear everything up in the morning. He rushed to his room, removing his shoes and robe, then he opened the window and whispered “Eun- Yeosang?”

And the spirit materialised back at his call. “There you are.”

“Come in.”

Yeosang lifted his robes little above his ankle, and gently landed his feet on the floor, his eyes scrutinising the room he found himself in.

A folding screen with a painted tiger walking among bamboo leaves sat against the wall, right by his bed. And at its head sat a short sword. Near the wall by the window was an elmwood desk, with two jade candle holders on each corner, and a set of drawers made out of the same wood. By his bed, there was also a lower and smaller lacquer table, where a pile of books and some incense sticks lied. In the other corner of the room was a quiver filled with arrows and a bow which appeared to be handmade.

“Why are you smiling?” Hongjoong asked.

“This room is very…you. Never expected anything less. The tiger screen. The weapons.”

Hongjoong eyed his swords. One of them had his parents’ names engraved on its blade, so that the blood from whom he killed would slip into the indents and colour their names red once again. “After what happened to them…” He said. “I’ve become too cautious for my own good.”

Yeosang grasped the fan tightly in his palm, apologies ready to roll off his tongue. But there was a certain power in Hongjoong confessing his weakness so bluntly. “I can assure you that won’t happen to you.” And Yeosang wanted that power to carry through. “I would swear it to you if you let me.” Hongjoong gave him a knowing smile, like he could already predict what Yeosang was going to say.

“Tomorrow, if I asked you to familiarise with everyone here, would you still erase my memory?"

“No. That wouldn’t be necessary anymore. I’m here to listen to what your plan is.”

“Just this for now. I would also like to introduce you to my most trusted men who have been onto this case from the beginning. However, in light of recent events, I would advise you to…Well, I’m not sure how to word this appropriately.”

“To…not count on them too much?”

Hongjoong chuckled. “It’s less harmless if you say it. But yes. I would like this to be dealt with as quietly as possible. And, by all means, come to me if there’s anything.”

“I will. I also think it’s best if we kept this matter private.”

Hongjoong nodded once, untying the cord of his robe, and throwing it on the floor. Without hesitating, Yeosang picked it up and folded it. “Will you go on a stroll tonight as well?” The spirit asked.

“I might. Join me in the same spot?”

“I’d love to. But speaking of the same spot, you climbed quite high last time.”

“Yes. I’m good at things I wasn’t allowed to do.”

“You weren’t allowed to climb trees?”

“Not while wearing the robe.”

“…Surely you have considered changing your clothes before climbing trees. I would have scolded you too.”

“Yes, I have considered it. But I’ve never done it. The breaks between my lessons were very short, and I would have wasted a lot of time changing. So I never did. I got punished for it. Every time.”

“They denied you breaks?”

“No.” He smiled. “They flogged the soles of my feet.”

“That’s…horrible.”

“It’s alright. I went climbing right after.”

“Just like that? In pain?”

“Yes. It was then when I realised it wasn’t about me climbing trees for fun anymore. It was to let them know how ineffective their disciplinary system was, and how much I hated it. Why did they ever think I cared more about staining my socks with blood more than I cared about them staining my pride? I will never know.” He picked up his usual red robe and wrapped it around him, growing visibly frustrated at the way the belt chose today of all days to misbehave. It was only his brow and jaw that showed his impatience, but then his features visibly softened, like he remembered he was not alone, and for once, there was someone he wanted to impress. “I have to go get ready for the morning assembly. Do visit the pavilion and the gardens if you have time.”

Yeosang bowed his head in agreement, and when he opened his eyes he saw the laces from the hems of Hongjoong’s white trousers untied. He shuffled over, on his knees, and made them into little bows in the back of his ankles. “That’s the servants’ job. Not yours.”

“And yet you got dressed up all on your own. When it was the servant’s job.” Yeosang said, standing up. “I’ll see you tonight. Same spot.”

*

With his back against the tree trunk, and his empty feet dangling in the air, Hongjoong carved a knife’s hilt, with a lantern beside him. He wrapped his fingers up that time, after almost losing one when he began carving. He refused to allow a professional to carve it for him. If he could lose a finger, he could do anything, or so he said to himself. He worked more meticulously than he did other times because that way time flew by slower, and he had more time to learn. He became alert and self-conscious about his posture whenever he heard leaves rustling in the distance, even when it was the wind or a small wild animal. He paused to stretch his fingers and rub his eyes with the heel of his palm. For the next minutes, he closed his eyes and listened to the night, thinking about how the dystopia that was his mind would shift if it was that quiet. When he opened his eyes to resume his handiwork, next to him sat a mythical creature with hair of autumnal colours and blue eyes. Hongjoong felt a wave of fear overcoming his chest, but held his breath, preventing it from manifesting physically. He acknowledged Yeosang’s presence and looked back down at his carving. “You’re late.” Hongjoong reproached.

“How can I be late when you did not give me a specific time?” 

Unable to think of something witty to retort, Hongjoong roughly swiped the carving knife, making the curled shaving fly all the way onto Yeosang’s lap.

The spirit picked it up, uncurling it and watching it roll back. “Would you like me to do it?”

“Does it look like I’m struggling?”

Yeosang remained silent for a moment, taking in the king’s presence. The hint of arrogance in his tone, and the frown on his face although the night was more serene than the day had been. “Well no, but I don’t like that you had to bind your fingers.” He hoped to learn more about him soon. And not just by looking at him. He didn’t like his eyebrows so furrowed, and his lips looked better when he smiled. But what Yeosang liked most about his face was his nose, and the vibrant red of his hair was the one that brought him the most joy.

“Where were you today?” Hongjoong asked, his tone calmer. Yeosang blinked as quickly as a butterfly’s wingbeats to bring himself back. His mind was somewhere on the next day, when he hoped Hongjoong would wear white again, and with that, to be given the chance to see the ends of his hair falling in soft, thin curls down his back, like a spider lily’s petals.

“Wandered around town. Made some investigations of my own.”

“Found anything useful?"

“Only that there have been sightings of a bleeding man trying to run away. He sought help from the farmers, but apparently he was chased out of their property. Judging by his clothes, they saw they were not from here.”

“I say they did well. That man’s probably dead.”

Yeosang looked at Hongjoong’s hands. He could not explain it himself, but he could feel splinters in his palms. The first time he wanted to return to the palace, he saw the bodies of the two palace guards being wrapped up and sent to be further investigated. Later, a pyre was built for them, and that was when he turned away and left. He felt a tinge of regret, which then turned out to be something else. His wish to be there to support the one he gave a part of himself to was not regret at all, but the king’s hardship which travelled across his abdomen and stung his liver. “Are you alright?” He said tentatively, although he knew the answer.

“I am. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I ask because that thing in your liver is telling me you’re not alright. Whether I like it or not, I have to concern myself with you.”

“Oh, what a coincidence that I’m carving a knife hilt. I could just stab my liver again and give it back to you.”

“I can’t guarantee it will be painless.” Yeosang looked his way, hoping he’d meet his eyes, but no made attempt seemed to be fruitful. “You don’t like it when people ask about you.”

“Not when even I cannot answer the question.” He sighed. “But I am alright. Not the first time I see a sight like that. The unknown, unrevealed, however, makes me anxious.”

Yeosang drew closer to him, stretching his hand to touch Hongjoong’s. The king looked at him, his cheeks quickly gaining colour, and his mouth slightly agape. He swallowed, leaving his throat droughty as summer, and under touch, his hand was only tense muscle and bone. He did not know how or when it happened, but Yeosang took the carving knife and the hilt away from him, and instead, he held his hand. Yeosang looked inside his palm, and as if by command, Hongjoong opened it. Supporting the king’s hand, he pinched the area around his thenar and pinched hard, picking out the splinter. Hongjoong’s hand twitched, but his pride was mightier than the earth he lived on, and he would have rather threw himself off the tree than withdraw his hand. When the pain subsided, he exhaled inaudibly through his nose, looking at Yeosang as he looked at his hand. His hand felt nice where it was, and his heart even told him it was alright to smile, until Yeosang raised Hongjoong’s hand higher and higher, dangerously close to his lips, and that was when he ripped his hand away and into the safety of his own chest. “Is this not alright with you?” Yeosang asked, but the question remained unanswered. The features of Hongjoong’s face softened, and he gathered his knees to his chest as well. “I was just going to kiss your hand.” He went on, but Hongjoong’s mind was as clear of thoughts as the sky was of clouds. “Is this…insulting, by chance? That was not my intention.” In fear that his voice would come out as an embarrassing sound, Hongjoong inbreathed deeply, wiped the sweat away from his palm, and slowly and trembling, he gave it to Yeosang to hold. But that time the spirit didn’t cup or hold it. He tucked his hair behind his ear while locking eyes with the king, then leaned in and kissed his palm. If Hongjoong’s hand was ice, then Yeosang’s lips were the sun. His heart pumped blood through him far rapidly, and when the warmth of Yeosang’s lips grew meadows in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand, he was reminded he was alive. He was reminded of trees and early mornings, victories and the joy that came with them. He was reminded of the power his voice alone bore. But never of the lack of strength when it came to looking into Yeosang’s eyes while his lips were still on his palm. He kissed his lifeline once, then the red dot where the splinter was. “I have something for you.” He smiled.

“…You do?” Hongjoong said in a near whisper. 

From behind his back, as if by magic, Yeosang took an arrow in perfect condition, with only the tip slightly dusted by soil. “You dropped this.”

Hongjoong accepted it back. He studied it, and he remembered. His heart allowed him to smile. And soon, so was Yeosang. “I knew it.” He said, and his voice was sun rays. “I knew you’d catch it."

“You shot it at me?”

“Towards you. I didn’t know how else to reach you. When we held that mounted archery competition. I had one more arrow left. And I had not seen you in a while. I wanted it to reach you. Somehow.” He ran his fingers through its feathers, then finally unwrapped the bindings from around his fingers, and poked the arrow’s tip. “I want to practice archery now. You should watch me.”

Before Yeosang had the chance to reply, Hongjoong was already getting ready to jump down and run to fetch his bow. In the dead of the night. But Yeosang grabbed his hand once again. “I have seen you. And I know you always do well. But can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I want to do it now.”

With the calm of a monk, Yeosang crossed their fingers together. “I know. But can we stay like this for a while longer? It feels nice talking to you like this.”

“But do you mean that? Or is it because you don’t want me to ruin my eyes by trying to hit the bullseye at the lamplight.” 

“Well. Both.” Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, but Yeosang went on. “But! If you leave, I won’t be able to hold your hand like this.”

“And?”

“I can tell you enjoy it.”

“I don’t.”

“Take it back, then.” 

Hongjoong didn’t.


	3. Fireflakes And Rain Like Cinders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will wait until you fall asleep, and then I will take my leave.”  
>  “Then I shall never sleep again.”

During the next morning assembly, Hongjoong welcomed Yeosang into the royal courtroom, and he found himself looking at the spirit with a distinct form of joy, so much that he almost forgot to introduce him. He wore a sky blue silken _overcoat_ , his hair was tied in a topknot, and the bead strings attached to his hat rung brighter than any other nobleman’s. Hongjoong had to clench his teeth when he saw Yeosang kowtowing at his feet, wanting to tell him that it’s not necessary. Yeosang’s presence appeared to be more than welcome. The noblemen were stunned by his existence, his calm demeanour, and exotic eyes. That evening, the king hosted a banquet for Yeosang to familiarise with everyone, and to make sure that no one was resenting the spirit’s presence. He turned out to be more popular than the king himself. Scholars held his hands while they spoke, as the stories went that holding Eunbaem’s hands will bring fortune. Yeosang did not have it in him to tell them that it’s not true. Hongjoong could not help but laugh at how uncomfortable Yeosang felt, and how he tried to smile through it all. He played the flute and the gayageum, making the men cry their drunkenness away, and Hongjoong even caught some complaining that Yeosang was not a woman, how quickly they would have married him otherwise. Hongjoong couldn’t help but smirk, and stare down Yeosang until he stared back. The last song he played on the flute was the same one he did when they’ve met. Then, Yeosang was the one to shy away from the king, his lips arching into a smile.

The next morning, Yeosang woke up to a pile of offerings he did not know what to do with. From sweets and fruits to expensive fabrics. He thanked everyone in the best way he could, stored the gift boxes in Hongjoong’s room, until later on that day when he snuck out of the palace and gave away all the food to the poor.

He spent the next several days learning more about the king’s schedule, and what everyone’s role was, all while keeping in mind the real reason he was there for.

Aristocrats were most fond of him. They invited him to drink with them while they had dinner, and Yeosang knew how to use this to his advantage. They were weak, and failed to hide their emotions well. The way they looked at Yeosang gave away that they were not thinking of him as what he was. He asked about their families, and they were more open to sharing things. He asked about Hongjoong, and they suddenly straightened their backs and praised the king as if they revered a god.

When he saw that it was around the time when Hongjoong would finish with his errands, he went back to their room to meet him, only to find the king already there, with his nose buried in books.

“Someone’s popular, it seems.” He said, not taking his eyes away from what he was reading. He had never sounded so offended.

Yeosang sat down next to him, with a bold smile on his lips.

Hongjoong wore a thin bathrobe, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and loosely secured around his waist. The tips of his hair were still wet, and he smelled of floral oils.

“I wanted to wait for you in your room.”

“Yet you were busy drinking.”

Yeosang bit his tongue behind his teeth, holding back a mass amount of bold answers and jokes. Instead, he shuffled behind Hongjoong, grabbed a hair comb, and started brushing his hair. “Oh, they certainly did. Me, not so much.”

His hair fell smooth down his back, the light falling over it in a straight line, as if over silk. Yeosang picked locks in his hand, making knots, and watching how they untangled by themselves, each strand falling back into its place. Hongjoong’s hair was faithful to how artists depicted hair in their paintings. 

“How long do you intend to do that for?” Hongjoong asked.

“Until you stop sulking.”

“I was not sulking.”

Yeosang placed the comb back and sat back down, on the other side of Hongjoong’s desk. He closed his book, setting aside all of his work. He leaned forward over the table, with his chin rested in his palm. When he tilted his head, locks of his hair fell over his shoulder, and the candlelight accentuated the sheen on his lips. The sight before him was something Yeosang never knew he needed.

“It was part of my investigation. That’s why I was with them. There’s no other reason.”

Hongjoong hummed, tilting his head on the other side. Yeosang clenched his fist underneath the table. “And what did you find out?”

“That it’s very easy to get information from them if you know precisely how to ask for it.”

“And how did you ask for it, pray tell?”

“Your Highness, there are certain things you need to take advantage of. Show a little wrist when you pour their soju. Things like that. Men are weak in front of pretty things. And that just happens to work in my favour.” And that was an answer that Hongjoong was unhappy with. His eyebrow was arched, and his lips stubbornly still. “I’m doing this for you,” Yeosang went on. “Please trust me a bit more.”

“I do trust you.” He mumbled, his voice raspy. “But I’m also a man, and weak in front of pretty things.”

“Correct, but you don’t compare to them.”

Hongjoong leaned back, supporting himself on his arms. He felt a surge of heat rushing within his ribcage. He held his hand out to Yeosang. “Can I see your wrist?”

Yeosang rolled his sleeve, revealing his entire arm up until the crook of his elbow. “Is it only my wrist you wish to see?”

His skin was as pale as white jade, his wrist slender. “No,” And Yeosang’s fingers brushed the back of Hongjoong’s hand as he held it. “I’m just not as brave as to ask.”

He rubbed soothing circles on Yeosang’s wrist, following the trace of a blue vein. “In your own time.”

His wrist lied in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand as if he held a lotus blossom, and his other hand lied within Hongjoong’s, softly caressing his fingers.

“Is it alright of me to do this?” Hongjoong whispered. Yeosang smoothened the tips of his fingers across Hongjoong’s knuckles. His skin was a tone darker, rougher, with every crease equal to one time he held his sword and was victorious. “Even though I’m a man, I mean.”

“…Even though you’re a man?”

Hongjoong nodded, and Yeosang never would have imagined that someone would look at his hand with so much ardour. “Yes. Is it alright?”

“I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“I mean,” A bit louder than a whisper, but yet uncertain. “Is it alright with you if we’re both men?”

“Oh.” Yeosang linked fingers with Hongjoong, his hand almost enveloping it, and caressed his palm with his thumb rather roughly. “Of course it is. It’s the heart that matters.”

Hongjoong nodded, a smile of relief painting his face. He allowed Yeosang to pull him closer. “Have you loved men before?”

“That question has many layers. Which one are you referring to?”

“Every layer.”

Yeosang walked his fingers over every line in Hongjoong’s palm. “I have loved men before.” And circled his wrist, much slower. “But I’ve never been in love.” He smiled, remembering something amusing. “They were in love, however. Oh, and how in love they were. With both this form and the other.”

“The other?”

Yeosang nodded, his finger creeping up Hongjoong’s arm. “Yes. I am the 'Four-Faced Snake' after all. I have the body of a man and the body of a woman too. And I can shift between them as I please.”

“Will you show me soon?”

“I might.” He chuckled. Hongjoong’s hand now lied still in Yeosang’s lap. “And they were willing to love me although I was a man. And others had much bigger plans. This happened about fifty years ago. I was a woman, then. He told me-” He held his hand above his mouth and laughed. “He told me something like ‘I want you to bear my child’ and I remember thinking ‘Absolutely not’.” Hongjoong laughed along with him. “And then I vanished. I flew to another city and started a new life.”

“Still as a woman?”

“Yes. I spent about a decade in that form. I wanted to see the world through their eyes. I sought to understand the world better, and being in that form helped a lot. It was interesting, but also difficult.” He took a lock of Hongjoong’s hair and twirled it around his finger. “I only loved women in that form.”

Hongjoong swallowed hard. “You did?”

“Yes. Women make lovely sounds when other women kiss their thighs. It’s interesting.”

His eyes fell back on Hongjoong, at how hard his body was trying to conceal his shyness.

“What about you, Your Highness? Have you loved men before?”

Hongjoong shook his head softly, although with no shame. “Never. But I have witnessed other men loving each other. I was much younger. At an inn. I went with my father. For a celebration, if I remember correctly. My father loved talking to the _gisaengs_ because they always told him what he wanted to hear. And I- I didn’t want to be there.”

“It made you uncomfortable.”

“Very. So I left. I went outside…And I saw these two men…” He stopped himself abruptly, his cheeks heating up just at the image of it.

“Yes?” Yeosang twirled the lock one more time around his finger, gently tugging on his hair. “What were they doing?” And held it against his lips. 

“They,” He inhaled and exhaled sharply. “They were being intimate.”

“Oh, really? Tell me more.” He finally kissed his hair, and Hongjoong suddenly gained nerves in his every strand, as the sensation of the kiss went straight to the knot in his stomach. “How were they doing that?”

“Up. Against the wall. One was tugging on the other’s hair. And biting his neck. They were both quiet. But it looked like…Like it felt good. I don’t know.” He chuckled nervously. “I’ve never told anyone about this before.”

“Do you feel better, now that you did?”

“No, I’m even more nervous. Will you please not tell anyone?”

Yeosang let the lock around his finger unwrap itself, but continued to play with it. “I have no reason in the world to.” 

*

Hongjoong sat before the dragon painted folding screen, with his robe resting only against his shoulders, and his crown on his head. To his right, on the other side of the table, was Yeosang, in his nobleman clothes, and to his left, sat a state councillor, along with one of the king’s secretaries.

During the past days, Yeosang has been working together with the two men, as Hongjoong ordered them to prioritise the case at hand and resume their normal duties after. He expressed how much he trusted the two, and how they were one of the few people to agree with Hongjoong most of the time.

As Yeosang never rested, he spent his nights and early mornings examining and tracing each man’s genealogy chart. He had the vision of a human, snake, and fox within him, and the councillor was more than impressed with his tenacity and work ethic. On a separate sheet of paper, Yeosang wrote the names of those he suspected, who left him questioning their family trees. With the help of the secretary, he forged himself a new map, circling and connecting places.

During the court hearing, while they all reported to Hongjoong, Yeosang hid himself within the king’s sleeve, in his snake form, wrapped around his arm, mostly there to listen to what they had to report.

“I never would have thought a spirit would work so efficiently,” The councillor praised Yeosang, and he smiled with gratitude.

“You as well. I would have not been able to finish as quickly without your assistance."

Hongjoong hinted a smile at their interaction. He feared that his people were not going to acknowledge Eunbaem.

He dedicated all of his attention to them while they reported their progress, and on several occasions when they mentioned the names of places, he found himself averting from the topic at hand, as his mind was experiencing déjà vu after déjà vu. He’s heard the names of those places and people before, and it seemed to ring louder than a repressed memory. When he was a child, he had a habit of falling asleep wherever, usually as a response to boredom, and his father, thinking his son was asleep, would talk about matters which were for no one’s ears. Including the place where his concubine was to be sent. All while Hongjoong was absorbing information, so there were high chances that the entire story was true. He came back at present to a quiet room, opening his eyes slightly wider when he realised he was expected to engage. The councillors seemed restless, while Yeosang’s eyes remained understanding. “Do I have your permission to go south, Your Highness?" He asked, and they all looked at him in slight shock.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

“I would rather not stop here. I would like to follow the thread all the way back. It should not take me more than two days. Three at best.”

Hongjoong shifted, his eyes insistently over Yeosang’s, as if he wanted to tell him something, but couldn’t because of the company. “Have faith in me, Your Highness. I will come back to you safely.”

Hongjoong nodded. “When do you plan to go?”

“…Once we finish this meeting? Would that be alright?”

“Make it tomorrow. We have a lot to cover.” Yeosang noticed how quietly he said the second sentence, like it was peppered with secrets and meanings that only the two knew.

Yeosang bowed his head.

They served dinner together with Mingi and Jongho, and Yeosang became the one to taste their dishes first to check if they were poisoned. Throughout the meal, they shared stories about what it was like to be close friends with the king and that gave Yeosang the courage to share his real name with the two. He had no idea the palace referred to him as ‘His Lordship, Eunbaem’. Then Jongho tried to tempt Hongjoong into competing to see who can shoot the most apples atop of the fence posts, and as much as it pained him, Hongjoong held Yeosang’s hand under the table and politely refused.

As soon as the two were alone, when the door from Hongjoong’s room sled closed, he pulled Yeosang into a tight embrace, and nuzzled to his neck. His face was hot with laughter and three and a half glasses of soju. Never once did Yeosang cease to be impressed at how low Hongjoong’s alcohol tolerance was. He smiled nonetheless, embracing him back, and kissing his head wherever his lips could reach. Hongjoong lifted his head and brushed his nose against Yeosang’s. “Will you?” Hongjoong rasped, nowhere near how the king in him sounded.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Yeosang preened at how he was the only one in the entire world able to make the king look so powerless. But as Hongjoong drew closer, the king found his wrists pinned against the wall, and lips kissing their way down his neck, before retuning to capture his.

Yeosang nibbled at the king’s lower lip, until he gave in and parted them, his hands crushing Hongjoong’s wrists.

And with that, his power vanished. He found himself lying down, with an ethereal body above him, a hand carded through his hair, and a tongue licking at all the soju after taste. Yeosang was skilful, with a preciseness that hit every one of Hongjoong’s weak spots. His tongue swirled violently, claiming and demanding, until their teeth clashed together. When he felt Hongjoong slowing down, he tugged at his hair until his chin angled up, and tilted his head the other side, shoving his tongue back in even before the king had time to open his eyes. A series of lewd sounds escaped from Hongjoong’s neck, dragging his hand up and down on Yeosang’s chest. 

They kissed as if their mouths were filled with riches, as if they lived in drought for decades, and their tongues were sweet rains and sweeter rivers.

Their clash eventually came to a truce, becoming a string of slow kisses, until Yeosang dropped his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, his hearing feeding on the way Hongjoong was panting. “You promised to come back safely.” He whispered, tangling his fingers through Yeosang’s hair.

Yeosang puffed out a quiet laugh. “No need to worry so. I will keep my promise. I will wait until you fall asleep, and then I will take my leave.”

Hongjoong kissed his wrist. “Then I shall never sleep again.”

*

Awakened by the cold whipping at his empty feet, Hongjoong blindingly patted behind him, to find the other side of the mattress empty. Yeosang had always been careful to cover him back a hundred times if he had too when Hongjoong tossed and turned in his sleep. That morning, he was uncovered and cold. And strangely lonely. With a sleepy groan, he turned around to Yeosang’s side of the bed, but his cheek landed on a small piece of fragrant paper. He picked it up and held it above him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As soon as he read the first sentence, he smiled as brightly as to make the sunflowers turn.

_Think about the many times I held your hand, and how much more often I kissed it._

_Think about every time I traced your lifeline with my finger, and how I held your hand to my chest as you fell asleep._

_Think about how two hands who have held so often melted into one, like the affluents of a river who have met once again, or the veins of the same leaf._

_If you miss me, kiss the back of your hand, because everything that I am, is you._

His heart threatened to float away from him. He was exhales away from taking his horse and chasing him south. He needed him like he had stolen a part of him, and was unable to live without. With his hand over his side, he realised it was the opposite. He loved one man like he could love no other, and that was his escape.

Absentmindedly, he powered through his morning duties, with the little paper in his fist. Then he ordered to have his breakfast taken to the queen dowager’s chambers for them to serve together. He sat next to her and adjusted the chopsticks into her trembling hand. “He left this morning.”

They waited for the maids to finish taste-examining the food for poison and leave them to their privacy. Then the queen dowager said “I know. He came to see me.”

Hongjoong swallowed his first bite the same moment she started that sentence, otherwise it would have gone the wrong way. “He did?”

“Yes. When he walked into my room, I thought it was you.”

“How so?”

“His scent. You bear the same one as him as well.”

Shame washed over him like a heatwave, and went in a direct trajectory to his stomach.

“He spoke very highly of you. And I felt a smile in his voice.”

“What did he say?”

“That you treated him kindly.”

The memory of his mountain spirit, the jade trinket around his neck, and the small note in his hand sometimes gained more presence and weight around him. The weight of arms and lips, with a gentle nature. He had met those lips once, but he remembered them with such clarity, like it had happened several times throughout the days they had spent together. He liked him when he was close.

“I’m glad you have a friend like him.” Queen dowager went on. “I think it will benefit you.”

“Why do you think so?” Hongjoong said, cupping the queen’s hands around the stew bowl before her, then placing the spoon in her hand. He waited until she began eating so he could too.

“Nature spirits are lovely creatures. His Highness is very lucky to have been chosen by one, when the rest of the world still believes they are just myths. Our species has a lot to learn from them. You should tell Her Highness about it.”

Hongjoong hummed affirmatively, and he was scolded for it. However, he didn’t nod. “Do you trust him, _grandmother_?” He asked, mixing kimchi into his rice, and shredding the chicken breast apart, before adding it in.

“Eunbaem?”

“Yes.”

“I trust him more than I do other people. I trust my rabbits more than I trust the palace officials. Make of that what you will.” 

Hongjoong was baffled as to why and how no one has said anything throughout his life. He saw no cracks into how the days at the palace went so smoothly as if they were choreographed. No one has given him any form of indication that there were rats roaming the same paved paths as his royal feet. He refused to call them snakes, as it was blasphemy. Rats were for the snakes to feed on. What a coincidence that Yeosang fed on human vital organs.

“I’ve met Eunbaem before. When I was much younger. When I was about your age. He helped me escape a marriage that not even my parents had agreed to. Had it not been for him, I would have never worn a crown. I would have not had His Highness, and he would have never had _you_.”

With his mind sinking in thoughts, and even more longing than before, Hongjoong served the last half of his meal in silence. He knew. Yeosang knew. Everything, from generations ago. Or maybe he didn’t, and there were even bigger forces at hand.

Her Royal Highness thanked him for the company and allowed him to leave for his meetings while her maids took her to the shrines. He walked them to the royal tombs —a place that fuelled his nightmares, then he was on his way. Happily.

He walked past the armoury, next to which was a small field —a training ground, where fights and duels and other performances took place. There, he found Mingi with his new disciples. Guards in training. Hongjoong whistled to get his attention. Mingi lifted his arm, gesturing for the swordsmen to take a break. “Where did the colour in your cheeks go? South, perhaps?”

Hongjoong reached for the sword at his hip. But he had not taken it with him. Mingi laughed. “…I have a meeting. Several, actually.”

“Would you like company?” Mingi asked.

“If you want to sit through an entire meeting about irrigation systems and aqueducts, be my guest.”

“…I’ll pass.”

“I knew it. Coward.”

*

Hongjoong sat before the late queen’s portrait. His crown sat on his head, and for once, he didn’t feel it there. In his hands, he held freshly plucked flowers. He removed the ones which were about to wither, and replaced them with purple hydrangeas. Setting aside the old flowers, he took his crown off, untied his hair, and looked up to his mother’s portrait painted in red and gold, right next to the king’s. That day was sunless, and rather cold. She did not shine as brightly.

He had always had the impression that the expression on her portrait always shifted according to what he had done around the time of visiting. If she was proud, she would smile, and the flowers would remain vibrant, and if she wasn’t, sometimes petals would be gone by the next morning, and her expression changed to neutral.

That day, she appeared to be smiling. Hongjoong knew it was his loss of sanity at fault, but he allowed it. She knew. About him riding off, and about where his heart had been lately. He could not say anything. Thinking about it was enough. He was a man who loved another man, and who did not have to open his mouth to speak for other people to know. The people who had to know, already knew. But he could only think about his parents, and Yeosang so much. On days like those, it did not feel like enough. When feeling would overrun him, he would become vulnerable, and when he was vulnerable, his fear of being alone came like a lightning after a thunder. There was no one around him, metaphorically or physically.

Maybe there was still time to get his horse and ride south.

“…I want to protect him.” Was the first thing he said. His eyes were closed. In tiredness, or shame, he did not know. But when he opened them back, his mother’s portrait was glowing with the sun rays beating against the gold on her cheeks and robe. He looked over his shoulder, and the sun had indeed come by. A lump grew at the base of his throat when he saw his mother smile. Shaking his head vigorously, with strands of his hair slapping against his cheeks as he did, he retrieved his crown, and rushed towards the royal library.

“Whom does His Highness wish to protect?” The historian said as soon as he caught up with him.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, flicking the question away with the sudden gush of wind. He pushed forward, holding his hair back from reaching his eyes.

Until he ceased in his steps. And looked towards the sky.

Wind.

‘He whom controls the winds with the sound of his flute’.

He smiled, and adjusted his crown.

He rushed past the scholars, paying no mind that they did not have enough time to greet him properly, but they did follow him. He ran to the archive, straight to the shelves where they kept the late king’s records. “Your Highness!” Someone shouted. “Why the sudden visit?”

"Bring me my father's records."

"...But-"

“Officer, do you know what would happen if I cut your tongue? You would not be able to share your teachings anymore. And if you cannot do that, then you will be useless to me and this country. Now raise to your salary’s worth and bring me his records.”

They stole glances from each other, and neither knew which should take the initiative to fulfil the king’s order. Hongjoong had time on his hands, which is why he decided to observe. Their lack of order. Their hesitance. Their secret glares. He pretended to turn a blind eye. He took the records, and spared them no more glares.

With his short sword beside him, he sat down at his desk, and carefully opened the first volume. The pages were just as he remembered them, but he still inspected every single one of them. He hated every second of it. Every minuscule detail about his life was written there, within very precise timeframes. His father would sometimes proofread what the historians wrote, offer feedback, or reconstruct the sentence himself. Hongjoong had a memory of him telling the historian ‘You cannot possibly write that down’. He was nothing like his father. He ran away from the historian, or sometimes fooled him, pointed an arrow at him, or challenged him to a duel. He’d seen the first volumes of his records. They had plenty of gaps. Just the way he wanted it.

He was on the ninth volume, still flipping the pages like the ink hadn’t dried yet. Halfway through, he saw a new name for the first time. Lady Minyeong. Hongjoong had never heard that name before. But when he turned the page to find out more, he found that there was no continuation. The story skipped straight to the moment when Sungjo was born. As much as Hongjoong hated the idea of having one’s life recorded, he’d never imagined he’d see missing pages from his father’s biography. And now that he had, he didn’t know what to do. With the last rays of sunlight he had from outside, he checked the bindings of the volume. Whoever stole the pages was careful not to leave marks behind. The only possible evidence was a slight stretch mark on the rope it was bound with.

He sighed, piled the volumes up, and when to prepare himself for bed. He left Yeosang’s note exactly where he had left it in the morning. He leaned on his side, with both his fists underneath his chin, and his knees to his chest. He had never slept like that.

The palace grounds were never quiet, and Hongjoong’s body learned to use that to his advantage to help him sleep. Guards talked by his window or door, birds of the night cawed and croaked like they casted spells, and on several occasions, Hongjoong heard his sword unsheathe itself. He’d wake up, sheathe it back, and pass out right back.

He had drifted it off to sleep in the end, in a different position than his first one, with the quilt between his legs, and all over his chest, and his arms spread with the palms facing upwards. He was awakened by the sound of light tapping at the end of the corridor. Then it deviated into the sound of someone dragging something against the floor. He paid it no mind, and drifted back to sleep, but the sounds only got louder. He took his short sword into his hands, and turned around. He cracked his eyes open at the loud thud by the other side of his door. “ _Your Majesty?_ ” The voice of a man said.

He hummed, not yet moving.

“ _Your Majesty?_ ” The same voice, the same tone.

“What is it?”

“ _Your Majesty?_ ”

Hongjoong rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and with the sword within his hand, he trudged towards the door, hiding himself to the wall beside it, and from there, he sled it open. He could hear the breath of nobody coming from there. Assuming his sword fighting stance, took a step backwards and faced the opening to the door. He was met with a tall, figure made up of a black skeleton, with yellow eyes. In his arms, he carried the pale body of Hongjoong’s father. As he pushed him towards Hongjoong, he fell still with horror as his sword thrusted right through his stomach, and his entire weight fell over his, his blood spilt over his hands, and as they both fell over, Hongjoong’s ankles sunk beneath the earth, and soon he felt soil pouring over his eyes and mouth.

He woke up with a scream, with his back facing the ceiling, the quilt between his legs, and over his chest. He panted, his palms twitching with the intensity of his heartbeats. He tried moving his limbs, but he felt the blood circulating within them more than he felt his bones and muscles working. Patches of numbness were scattered all over his body, and he had to look down at him to assure he still had them. From the direction of the door came the sound of tapping, like fingernails against wood, creeping in his direction. He whipped his head towards it, his eyes searching for the source of the sound, but all they could discern were two beady yellow pupils within two empty sockets. The creature crawled towards him from the dark, making a gurgled, wheezing sound. Its jaw had been snapped and dislocated, its tongue had been poked and sewed, and it dragged itself closer by its legs, with its cheek rubbing against the floor. Both its arms were missing.

Hongjoong blinked. He had not tried to move anymore. Squinting his eyes to make up the face, although distorted, he said “Come closer?”

The creature stopped with a growl. It turned its head to the other side. Hongjoong brought his lips together, and he whistled the tune of morning birds chirping.

Next time he blinked, the creature was gone.

He clapped his hands over his mouth the first thing after he regained his ability to move, his sword in his lap, then he wrapped himself in his quilt. Short strands of hair, damp against his forehead. He wiped the sweat away, although his room was quite cold. He patted around the mattress, in search for Yeosang’s note. “No,” He tossed away his quilt, and his pillows, searching through the seams and folds. “No, no,” only to hear the soft whistle of a paper sliding over the floor. It lied next to the wall by the door. Hongjoong went to retrieve it, thinking about how it had fallen on the exact same spot where he had stood in his nightmare.

He picked up the note, and kissed the back of his hand while he wept.

*

The following day he spent more time by his parents' shrine. He had an entire conversation with them. In his mind. About Yeosang. Because the historian was there, and Hongjoong was determined to make him go insane. There was nothing worse in the world than a historian having nothing to write about. And nothing was better than a historian not being invasive.

He had gotten more suspicious looks than the other day. The part of his brain where memories are stored began seeing patterns. People began to be as careful with him as they were after the king and queen’s funeral. They have gotten quieter, and once again began communicating with each other using their eye language. Not all of them, just the ones who stood closest to his left and right during court. He did not seem to be the only one harbouring these suspicions. But he waited. He observed, and he researched.

That day he sparred both Mingi and Jongho, and after he lost against both of them, the two had gotten worried that it was indeed something happening within him. And even more when he had no interest for a rematch to reclaim his victory.

He served his meals alone and secluded himself into the study room, with only his one and only trustworthy maid by the door. And as he sat alone, among the bookshelves, dust, and the smell of old tomes and ink, he realised that the concept of trust and distrust was eating at him like drought swallowed the sun.

Within the shadows and behind the corners of his peripheral, he saw two yellow eyes pointed at him. He dipped his brush into water, raised his head, and whistled the same tune. The eyes closed.

“Yes, Your Highness?” The maid said, taking a quick bow.

“Pardon me?”

“I heard you whistled. I thought you summoned me.”

He smiled. “No. I just,” he pointed to the window. “I saw a bird. I was trying to replicate the sound.”

The maid inclined her head, taking several steps forward. “His Highness used to do this when he was a little boy too.” She smiled.

She waited for one more moment, then she excused herself. “Lady Minyeong.” Hongjoong said, and the maid whipped her head around in slight shock. Her reaction was exactly what Hongjoong had expected. “Who was she?”

The maid paused, and slowly approached him again. “I remember the king threatening everyone that if her name is spoken again, he would cut our tongues and feed them back to us.”

Hongjoong’s mind might have been collectively repressing more memories at once, and they shaped into something that rung familiar with what she said. It felt like he remembered his father saying that.

“Lady Minyeong was the woman who birthed the king’s first son.”

“…So that’s her name…I see.” He paused. “Do you happen to know who removed the pages from _Daewang’s_ records?”

“I do not, but whoever did it has clearly never read the law, and therefore should not be here.”

Hongjoong wordlessly agreed. He was staring into the distance, with his cheek propped into the heel of his palm. It was the closest he would ever get to meditating. “I can trust you, yes?”

With no hesitance in her steps, she kneeled before Hongjoong, and from the inside of her shirt, she took a silver brooch of a butterfly over a flower. She opened it up like a locket, revealing a short lock of red hair and a needle-sized bar of gold. “This belonged to the queen. To _your mother_. She gave it to me and entrusted me to protect you as she would. Before she joined His Majesty. I considered her my friend. She wanted us to wear matching coloured hanboks during the New Year’s Eve on the year you were born.” The apples of his cheeks became prominent, and so did the wrinkles from his eyes. “Yes. You can trust me.” She stood back up and folded her hands over her stomach.

Hongjoong knew about the brooch, but not about strands of his hair locked inside it. While she was there, he wore blue, a different crown, his hair was shorter, and he was sixteen again. And he wasn’t alone. “Do you miss her?”

“I do. But we have His Highness now. To whom I am very grateful for.”

And so was he. He only wished he could say it back.

“I will find out who stole the pages.” She promised.

“No. I will do it.”

She shook her head. A bold move, but Hongjoong waited for her argument. “Nothing should distract you from your duties. There are still many you can trust here. You are this country’s face. People pray to you like they pray to a god. You protect them. And let us protect _you_.”

Hongjoong diverted his eyes from her. He couldn’t tell if she was right or not. In the end, he nodded, and dismissed her. Gathering his robes, he left the study room and went about his duties.

When he was reminded about marriage the first time, he allowed the wind to drift the matter away. The second time, he refused to address it out of sheer stubbornness. The third time, he dismissed them all and went to his room to continue researching.

His knees felt heavy on the floor, and his back hunching like it was made of rubber. For the latter half of the day, he visited private educational institutions and preparatory schools as a form of inspection, and also to directly provide them with funds for reparations and materials. He spent about an hour in each, gave speeches, and talked to each child individually. He loved looking at them while they spoke. He loved the purity and determination in their voices. And that was the only reason why he continued until the point of exertion. There were never too many stories to hear, and never too many names to remember. As if by a miracle, no one commented on his decisions, and as they travelled, he was nothing but praised. This, among unnecessary comments about marriage. As soon as he entered the palace’s grounds, he felt suffocated. Repulsed by a presence that told him to turn back. He arched his eyebrow and pushed forward. His eyes were too tired to feel threatened.

He lied down on the floor, closed his eyes, and felt himself falling asleep right away. Without allowing himself to, he only rested his eyes, took deep breaths of air, and focused on the silence. He pulled himself back up, flipped his hair back, and picked up the next volume. Soon, the strokes of the characters mingled together, creating new words, and no matter how many times he blinked, they would not separate. There were no more mentions of Lady Minyeong for the next pages, but for him that was not a reason to skimp through. Seconds, like hours, seemed to have passed, and the pages were endless. Halfway through, he’s had enough of reading about the late king playing ‘ _go’_ , and slammed the volume shut. With his cheek leaned on it, and his arms around it, he closed his eyes. Uncomfortable enough for him to fall asleep, yet he did.

He’s had visions of him flying, and being able to breathe underwater, and running barefoot through forests, and another one of his hair being so short, that he felt liberated. He smiled in his dream, and he probably smiled in reality too. 

A stream of cold crept into the room. The kind that Hongjoong found within the cavern Yeosang lived in. Hongjoong descended the stairs to meet him, then the cold subsided into something more comfortable. Homely. A kind of warmth, roughly tactile, that evoked closer to him, and touched his head.

Hongjoong gasped awake, picked up his sword, shielding himself with it, and unsheathing it halfway through. Then he dropped it from his hands like it was molten iron. “Yeosang.”

“Your Highness.” His hand was still raised, frozen. “Apprehensive today, are we…”

“Sorry.” He wore a new silver hairpin he had never seen before. His robes were white and sky blue. He was serene and bright. A sun amongst each phase of a moon. He was safe and unharmed. “You’re back.”

“As I promised. And I am well too.” He smiled truthfully, until he saw the late king’s records on the table, and it became uncertain. “You’ve been studying.”

Hongjoong nodded. The lamplight only accentuated the tired lines underneath his eyes. “How was the search?”

“Worthwhile. Should I save it for the court?”

“Yes, please. Although, I am impatient.”

Yeosang nodded. “I have to ask. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He breathed. His room became smaller than before. “I am now.”

Hongjoong’s jaw trembled with the mass of questions and words of welcome he had. He stood up and made his way to him. Bold and powerful. An overlord.

Until he dropped to his knees and safeguarded Yeosang into his arms. “I'm glad you're back.”

Yeosang shook his head, his nose buried into Hongjoong’s hair. “My place is here.”

“It is.” And he sealed their lips together, the palm of his hands against Yeosang’s cheeks.

Hongjoong’s lips were slightly rough from having been unkissed for days, and held for none but Yeosang to warm up. His arms were wrapped around Hongjoong’s neck, with one hand carded through his hair. “You’re exhausted.” Yeosang emphasised after noticing how heavy Hongjoong felt in his arms, unable to hold his own weight.

“A bit.”

Yeosang kissed his shoulder through his robe, and secured his arms around him. Hongjoong seemed to trail down on him, melting away with his tiredness. With his cheek now on Yeosang’s chest, he closed his eyes. Yeosang embraced him, and kissed his hair. They both smiled without knowing. “I’ve missed you.” The king rasped.

“And I, you.” Yeosang twirled locks of Hongjoong’s hair around his finger, dropping them strand by strand, then picking them up again. “You smell nice.”

“I do?”

“You do. Very earthly.”

“…Soil?”

Yeosang chuckled. “No. I find it hard to describe it. It’s your natural scent. Like…” He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly, but deeply. One of his arms was around Hongjoong’s shoulders, and he was caressing his face with his other hand. “…Like splitting a leaf in two. Like cherry blossoms stems. Like grass fields after rain. Oh, and rosehip.”

“All those?” Hongjoong’s arms looped around him loosely, pressing into him. Understanding the message, Yeosang held him tighter.

“All those.” Yeosang rested his cheek against Hongjoong’s head, smiling at how softly the king was breathing. Not yet sleeping, but slowly on his way. He parted his lips to speak, but hesitated. No form of expression was faithful enough to what he had in mind. On his way there, he shed tears, but the cold winds that carried him drifted them away. His search did not come with breaks, nor did he want any. After he gathered evidence and precise answers to Hongjoong’s questions, the first thing he did before leaving the village was to fly to the nearest river, strip, and sink himself in. There, he meditated and prayed, unmoving until his head would separate from his body out of numbness, and his lungs would give in. There was something evil in him, and he wanted it out. The sight of Sungjo, with his red robe and red hair, was enough. At night, he snuck into his bedchambers, and almost got caught when he could not take his eyes off him. It was a face he wanted to remember. And later it was a face he regretted remembering. The manor in which he lived in was as large as a palace, with servants and soldiers addressing him as ‘Lord’ or ‘King of the South’. On his way, he was overcome by another presence, this time coming from the north. The area around his liver began stinging, that he almost dropped from the sky. “Hongjoong?” He said. The king raised his eyes, assuring that Yeosang’s arms remained around him. He had nothing ready. Too much to say, but no words. Hongjoong caressed his cheek, his eyes switching from his lips to his eyes. “I trust you.” He said, kissing Hongjoong’s palm right away. “I trust you’ll never leave.”

He lowered his hand to Yeosang’s neck, stroking the silky skin with his thumb. “You’re afraid of me leaving?” Yeosang nodded. “How come?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know I can’t leave so long as we have this bond.” Hongjoong said with a slightly comical tone. He wished he had taken it back when he saw the disappointed look in Yeosang’s eyes.

“So if I broke the bond now…you’d leave.”

Hongjoong answered him with a kiss. One which became a series of more. Their tongues and arms tangled. They both had so much to say, but shame disguised as weakness prevented them.

“Yeosang-ah,” Hongjoong whispered, and Yeosang hummed before kissing him once again.

Maybe that night, a name was enough. A name was worth days and nights and seasons.

Hongjoong’s hands sled downwards on Yeosang’s waist, not for his arms to wrap around, but for them to remain there, and take in its slenderness. Yeosang did not pay it any mind, until his hands went even lower, to rest around his hips. That was when he pulled away enough for them to look at each other. He stared as Hongjoong’s thumbs started rubbing circles at the crease between his thighs and his hips. “Your Highness?” Yeosang raised his eyebrows at the implication of his actions, but refused to give an answer until he would say it clearly. He was very close to having his mind clouded.

Hongjoong pulled him close until their chests and hips were pressed together, and Yeosang instinctively narrowed his eyes with a hiss at the contact. “I want you to take me.” Hongjoong confessed.

There was a pause in which Yeosang drew adorations on him with nothing but his fingers and his eyes, and he preened at the king’s request. So much, that he forgot to answer.

Yeosang felt the increase in Hongjoong’s heart rate on the tip of his tongue, even before it started happening. They broke from their hold, unsure how to approach the subject. Thinking that Hongjoong was yet too unexperienced, Yeosang took his hands and brought them to his sash. “Undress me?”

Hongjoong’s eyes glowed with honour. A part of him felt unworthy. He untied the sash slowly, letting it drop to the ground, before grabbing the hem of his collar with only two fingers, opening it up gently. One collarbone, then the other. The silk fell off his shoulders as if over porcelain, making no sound when it had reached the ground. Hongjoong’s breath cut in his throat, having the need to swallow to see if his neck hadn’t dried. As he disrobed him of his last garment, Hongjoong stepped back, his palm over his mouth. Yeosang gave him a confused look, his head tilted. His hair was one with the candlelight, and his skin made polished jades seem rough. “You look beautiful like this,” Hongjoong whispered. As he should have, for it was their secret. “I never thought I’d have a man bare before my eyes and think ‘this is the rawest form of purity I’ve ever seen’.” His hand reached for the silver hairpin in Yeosang’s hair, watching as the locks fell over his shoulders like feathers descending from a bird in mid-flight. “How do you make nakedness so pure?”

Yeosang folded his arms over his chest as to cover himself. “I don’t know. No one’s ever told me this before.”

Hongjoong caressed his cheek, running his thumb over his lips, and that was perhaps the only sensual thing about him. The way he tilted his chin upwards, and parted his lips, kissing the tip of Hongjoong’s thumb. “What a work of art you are.” Yeosang chuckled, and shook his head.

Hesitantly, he dragged his finger along the centre of Hongjoong’s robe, until it reached the knot of his cord, then he looked back up at him to ask permission. Yeosang stripped him of his robes at a much quicker, skilled pace, his eyes constantly on his king’s. But as the robe revealed more skin beneath, Yeosang kissed his way down, feeling the muscles of Hongjoong’s chest tensing up more. “You honour me, king.” He said, his lower lip trailing over Hongjoong’s nipple. “You honour me so much.”

“Don’t speak of honouring to me. I should be the one revering you.”

Yeosang kissed him playfully, chuckling. “Only if you let me worship you too.”

In the back of his head, Hongjoong didn’t mind. He was used to it, so he kissed Yeosang back as an answer.

His eyes bore into Yeosang as he followed his fingers outlining every line on his body.

“I’m sorry.” Hongjoong said, with an embarrassed smile.

“For what?”

“I’m not as beautiful. You don’t have to look at me.”

Yeosang glared as if insulted, and resumed looking at his naked body, trying to understand why he didn’t think he was beautiful. Hongjoong’s body was strewn with bruises in all of their stages of healing; on the side of his waist, right over his ribs, lied two white scars which Yeosang guessed he gained from sword fighting. He touched every copper coloured crease and line into his skin. He shied from looking at his arms. At how sculpted and toned they were, how glimpses of his veins showed at the surface of his skin, glowing in all of their roughness. Yeosang dreamt of touching them, but more than that, he wanted them to touch him, to put all their power to the test.

“Lie down for me.”

Hongjoong nodded, assuming himself a comfortable position on the mattress, watching as Yeosang lit up the incense sticks, and coming back to the bed with a little cup filled with oil. “Where did you get that?”

“…Need you know everything?”

Yeosang crawled over him on his palms and knees, wasting no time in getting his king ready. He kissed him in places the sun never reached, and others in which the candlelight casted shadows. He kissed his bruises and scars, and whatever else Hongjoong did not find beautiful about himself.

“Are you nervous?” Yeosang asked, a hint of concern in his voice, as his lips reached his chest. He felt the rhythm of his heartbeats being sent to his lips as well, although Hongjoong’s chest seemed to heave in slow breaths.

Hongjoong shook his head, giggling in such a playful way that it made Yeosang’s heart clench. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Yeosang has never heard that kind of response from anyone, not even from other people who shared their intimate stories with him throughout the years. He left an encouraging kiss on his forehead, before lowering his head to Hongjoong’s chest, sealing his lips around his left nipple and sucking at it gently and lovingly, as his other hand played with the right one. Hongjoong hissed between his teeth, gathering his legs up to brush them against Yeosang’s, then shyly pulling them away.

“Have you ever heard about the ‘nine shallow, one deep’?” Yeosang asked, lifting himself up to tie all of his hair back.

Hongjoong blinked, and shook his head. Only by the name of that, he understood, and it took no more for his cheeks to start heating up.

“It’s a lovemaking technique originated from Taoist texts. And I will test it on you.” He said, and gently grabbed the back of Hongjoong’s knee, lifting it to a comfortable elevation.

“And have you tried it on other men before?”

Yeosang huffed out a breathy giggle as he kissed Hongjoong’s knee, and from there his thigh, in a bit of a hurry to distract him from the question.

“I hope you know I’m keeping track of the times you avoid answering me.” 

“Oh, good. Let me know when you reach a hundred.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to retort him, but what came out instead was a breathy moan at how gentle Yeosang kissed the crease of his hip, then going up to his waist. From there, he began using his tongue only, and Hongjoong shivered once again when he swiped it across his nipple. “…Like that.”

“Hm?” 

“I-” Hongjoong gulped, his eyes hazy, staring at the flickering light. “I like that.”

“This?” Yeosang assured, flicking his tongue over the nub again.

Hongjoong nodded, his back slightly arching. “Tuh…Tell me about the ‘nine shallow, one deep’…”

“Well,” Yeosang began, wiping his lower lip against his thumb. He slotted himself in between Hongjoong’s hips, gently parting his thighs. Bold and shameless, just the way he loved him. He dipped two of his fingers into the oil and leaned over Hongjoong, ready to soothe him, with one arm to the level of his head to caress his skin, and the other arm right in between his thighs. He pressed his first finger to the level of his entrance, running his hand up and down, soothing him with butterfly kisses on his temple. “You insert only the head of your shaft, so not all the way in from the start,” He explained, at the first phalanx of his finger went in “For nine times.”

Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut, fisting his hand through the bedsheets in an attempt to stay relaxed, his lips parted.

“And for the ninth time, you go all the way in. Then you go eight shallow, two deep, and so on until you complete the cycle.” And shoved the rest of his finger in, gradually, holding Hongjoong close. “Breathe deeply. Talk to me if you must.”

He lifted his head to find Hongjoong giggled quietly. Once again, his heart flipped. “I think my body is speaking to you loud enough.”

Yeosang stuck his finger out, coating his digits with another layer of oil. “You’re right.” He leaned back over him, caressing his cheek as he did. “Two fingers now. Are you ready?”

Hongjoong nodded. He was indeed looking forward to it. He followed Yeosang’s instructions, and cleared his mind, but only by thinking about his lover’s purity, and the slenderness of his fingers as they pressed against his walls. That lasting only until he felt the fingers moving in a scissoring motion. He did not know what to make of the sensation. It tickled, but not in an amusing way. It hurt, but ironically, not in a painful way. He whimpered when he pulled out, gathering Yeosang into a chaste hug, bracing himself for a third finger in. “Now, I need you to start counting with your breaths, alright?”

Hongjoong nodded his head, his eyelids burning. “Nine shallow, one deep.”

“That’s right.” With his other hand, he caressed his chest, right over his heart.

Hongjoong wished he was more fearful. He wanted his chest to ache with emotion, to feel bewildered within his own body. To feel oppressed by the weight on his chest, and bitter at how his thighs trembled, and how awful it felt to have himself stretched that way. But he found himself wanting more of everything. He could not understand why nothing was hurting, and why his eyes were tearless, and why there had been people who bled and cried. He harboured Yeosang within his arms and moaned his name, until the spirit would worry and look at him. Then he’d smile and embrace him and kiss him like that. He had stopped counting. Shallow or deep, he liked it either way. Deep, more than shallow. And Yeosang. Him, above everything. His eyes would drop closed, hissing and digging his heels into the small of Yeosang’s empty back, and he’d ask for more. If there was any way for him to remember how it was like to have him inside him, he wanted it. “Why must you remember when I’ll never let you forget?” Yeosang asked. 

Hongjoong kissed him once again, chuckling with so little control. He watched as Yeosang’s pupils became thin and vertical, and scales rose on his cheek and neck. He felt his scales stroking against his skin, and the thought of Yeosang’s claws soothingly scratching him made him so willing to further submit himself. He loved the wet sounds that came from below their waists, the soft sound of skin against skin. He loved it because that is how secrets sounded like, and he’s always wanted to be above everyone.

Until that night, when he adored having his one and only above _him_. He loved him there, glowing like the mountain peaks he worshipped so. Hongjoong caught Yeosang’s hair into his palm and wrapped it around his hand for him to see him better. “I forgot,” He said, as the back of his head hit the mattress again. His cheeks were hurting from never having stopped smiling.

“What did you forget?” Yeosang asked, taking Hongjoong by the back of his thighs and securing them at his back. He had stopped counting too. Neither of them could bear their minds not brimming with the thought of each other. 

As cruel as it may have sounded, Yeosang was happy there was no one else to love Hongjoong like he did. “To court you,” The king said. He smiled, until a particular thrust, when his mouth fell open all the way, moaning.

Yeosang’s vision sharpened and smells gathered on the surface of his tongue. He pinned Hongjoong’s wrists down above his head and raised above him. “You needn’t court me,” He canted his hips slow, but enough to rub Hongjoong where he ignited the quickest. “When I’m this far within you.” He smiled, and Hongjoong wished he had more time to read through and understand every layer of that statement. He cupped Yeosang’s cheeks and kissed him wherever his lips landed, responding to his thrusts with little cries and moans.

Yeosang released his other wrist, and wrapped his hand around him instead. “N-No,” Hongjoong protested. “Let me…Let me last longer…Please,” He whispered, his eyes, like stained glass, facing the ceiling. “I like you like this,” Yeosang kissed his temple and wiped his eyes dry. “In me…You feel good in me.”

“I feel good in you too.” He leaned in, kissed his cheek and jaw, and spent an unnerving amount of time on his neck. Hongjoong’s mind ascended, his crown removed, and his title revoked. He saw himself on the peak of a mountain, flying and running with his hair untied, just for Yeosang to braid it back. He had been untouched, but he moaned like he hadn’t.

“Yeosang-ah,” He whined, his arms raised to capture him within. Yeosang kissed his forehead.

“Hongjoong-ah.” He chuckled, kissing him again, as if they’ve ever had enough. He’d always been the best with words. 

With him. And with other people. He’d been just as charming with words, surely, with all the other men he’s been with. And he’d lain with them and sung to them, and kissed them with the same lips he kissed him with.

Hongjoong cursed them all. He hoped they were not given the luxury of a funeral. With hate pooling by his navel, he braced himself, and adjusted his position to welcome Yeosang in more. Hongjoong wanted to take him for every man Yeosang’s slept with that wasn’t him. To push himself until pleasure became pain, and the pain to last so long, that it would numb the memory of another man. He felt a form of discomfort that he would welcome any time, but that specific one was getting painful. With his mouth open —a fountain of whimpers and moans, he looked down at him, marvelling at how Yeosang stroked him while thrusting into him. Moments later, Hongjoong’s vision went blank with a flux of pleasure so intense, that he grasped at the bedsheets, arching his back until his spine would snap, and rubbing his thighs against Yeosang’s hips. He let out his first sob when Yeosang pulled out. He panted wildly, a first tear streaming down. Yeosang wiped him clean, kissed him all over until the king smiled giddily again, then went to rest his head on his shoulder. Hongjoong laced an arm around him and kissed his forehead. 

“You’re my present.” Yeosang whispered, his lips against his cheek. He kissed him softly. “You’re my tomorrow and my fortnight.”

Hongjoong smiled at his earnest. “And you are mine."

Between his thighs, soaked within the mattress, lied three drops of blood.


	4. That Which Lies Shrouded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lips salty as the sea, rough like the sand beneath it, and warm as its shores."

The officials who once stood closest to Hongjoong, then stood to Yeosang’s left and right. As if any moment, they were ready to seize him. Yeosang had not bothered to wear nobleman’s clothes. He went back to his white, silk, and silver embroidered robe, with a sky blue cord around his waist. His hair, tied back loose and secured with a simple hairpin. His feet were bare, with his ankles and toes adorned with thin pieces of jewellery. His handfan was wide open, slowly fluttering over his chest.

He needed no introductions. Men have been summoned, but none knew the reason. The only two who knew were them. And it took no more to conquer. “You’ve returned to us, Eunbaem.”

“With great things to share. There’s nothing snakes love more than not having to chase their prey.”

“And I very much hope your evidence will be as bold as your statement.”

Yeosang smiled. He filled his lungs with air, and the air smelled like repressed thoughts. He could hear them like they were his own, and before he spoke, he examined the room until the thoughts went quiet.

“There are three people in this courtroom who have no right to sit in such close proximity to the king. Five people who have broken the king’s trust in favour of the former king’s ideologies. And ten people who have been disloyal to His Highness since the day he commenced his reign.” A grave silence cloaked the courtroom, enough to hear the bead strings from the officials’ hats ringing as their heads shook. It was quiet enough to hear how Hongjoong scraped his nails against the dragon embroidered on his sleeve. “You know who you are,” Yeosang continued, his voice as stern as a king’s edict. “But most importantly, _I_ know who you are.”

Yeosang’s chin was high, his shoulders relaxed, and hands loose at his back. Hongjoong seized Yeosang’s eyes, unable to part from them, as vicious as they seemed to be, and a smirk painted his face when he noticed Yeosang’s pupils thinning out and becoming vertical, glowing like cobalt crystals. He looked to his left and right, already knowing that nobody was going to step forward.

He inhaled deeply and began reciting: “Jeong Yakhyeong, Im Hyesang, Seong Ikjeom, Yi Sangyeong, Hong Seokyong, Kim Hyosik, Ahn Siwon, Kim Jigong, Chae Jayeol, Gang Sunjeom, Choi Gwangyeong, Jo Yeongdeok, Choi Hwangjeom, Gwon Hugyeom, Seong Jongseung, Yun Hyeongsun, Im Sungong, Chae Gwanghui.”

After he finished enumerating every single name as crystal as an actor reciting their lines, as fierce as a general commanding an army, Hongjoong was sure that Yeosang ruled in one of his many lifetimes. He wore an armour and fought in wars he’s only read about.

When Yeosang promised him to never cease surprising him, Hongjoong would have never thought he’d keep his promise with so much ardour. Anyone would find his eyes frightening, but Hongjoong was feeding off this fright just as Yeosang was feeding off his energy.

“If you heard your name being called…Please step forward.”

Several of the names Yeosang enumerated rung familiar to Hongjoong, but there was no face he could associate with them.

“Your Highness!” A councillor said, “You cannot possibly believe him without any evidence!” 

“Who said I believed him?” Hongjoong smirked. “I simply asked for the men whose name were called to step forward.”

Yeosang was three steps away from the king’s throne. To him, it was close enough to hear him whisper, even if they were stairs apart.

One by one, men started aligning behind him. He did not need to look over his shoulder to know that there were less than ten. Somewhere on his left, a man’s teeth were chattering in fear, and another one was fumbling around with his sleeve. Yeosang eyed them sharply, and with his head, gestured them to join the line. On his right, two men were pushed outside their place to join the others.

“What is your evidence, Eunbaem?”

Yeosang cleared his throat quietly. “The place where Sungjo was taken, about twenty-five years ago, is a village near Daegu called Geumcheon. Two of the aforementioned men, Your Highness, are from there. When Lady Minyeong arrived in the village, the news travelled quickly that she birthed the rightful crown prince, and that she was wrongfully banished by the king. And as the child grew, and rumours began once again spreading that the queen was birthing the true crown prince, he gathered men. Lady Minyeong founded a rebel group called the Order of the Black Dragon, and lead it until Sungjo would come of age. Months before you were born, Your Majesty, Chae Gwanghui and Im Hyesang were sent to take the imperial exam and work at the palace. Then arrived Ahn Siwon and Yun Hyeongsun, posing as scholars.”

“What are you insinuating by ‘posing’?!” A man shouted from behind him.

“I mean that you truly have not made any effort to have your work recognised by the king. I don’t doubt your intelligence, but I doubt your efforts. And of course, your loyalty.” From the inside of his sleeve, Yeosang pulled several folded letters. “Ahn Siwon had this sent to the village of Geumcheon. About a year ago. Your name appears several times in the letter, Your Majesty.” He kneeled and placed the unfolded letter on the ground, opening up another one. “This is from Yun Hyeongsun, sent directly to Lady Minyeong. This one is more recent. The rebel group is mentioned here. And-” Yeosang stopped abruptly, reluctance running through the tips of his fingers.

“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, his eyes searing scars into Yeosang.

“This is…” Yeosang swallowed thickly, setting the letter down to face Hongjoong. “This is a short message from Lady Minyeong, where she confirmed the commencing of their plan. And she…she stated to have the king assassinated.” Hongjoong held his breath in. “By Jeong Yakhyeong and Yi Sangyeon. The two men who have served both you and the former king.—And before any of you even think about accusing me of forging these letters,” From underneath his sash he pulled out another set of written papers “These are the written reports you had the king read the other day. From all of you. Do summon a head scholar or a governor to check the similarities in handwriting, if you must.”

“What of the others, Eunbaem?”

“The others are Order of the Black Dragon members. All of them. There are lists and reports with their full biography. I have them all memorised. If you, however, would like solid proof, I could go and retrieve it for you. Lastly, they all had their bodies marked. On their hips.”

Hongjoong slammed his fist against the throne’s armrest. “Shut the doors!” He thundered, making the marrow of every bone in that room tremble. “And seize them!”

What followed was nothing less for an uprising.

The wooden doors slammed shut with a thundering sound, and the guards pointed their spears at everyone who dared turn to them. One of the men aligned whose name has never been called, pulled Yeosang by his hair, immobilised his hands, and pressed a dagger to his neck. Everyone’s eyes were on them, and Yeosang’s eyes were on Hongjoong. “Nobody move!” He shouted, spit flinging out of his mouth with every consonant. “Or I’ll fucking cut his throat!” When he saw Hongjoong giving him a slight nod, Yeosang shapeshifted into a serpent and crawled around the man’s throat, squeezing until the man’s knees gave in, and further on until his head hit the ground. As he uncoiled, he raised his head high, grit his fangs, and let out a hiss as loud and threatening as a bobcat’s. Its mouth was open all the way, and his fangs seemed to grow. As the men before him were still with disturbance, Yeosang lunged forward, curling around a man’s leg, then climbing all the way up to his throat, asphyxiating him until he collapsed to the ground. The officers who were deemed innocent were crushing each other into the walls, their eyes switching from the rabid viper, to the king who seemed to enjoy the performance.

And one by one, men fell to the ground with their lungs devoid of air, and with each loud thud, the fire in the king’s eyes seemed to spark brighter. Men were being shackled, chained, around the pillars, wheezing breaths in an out in violent spasms. Hongjoong held his hand out to Yeosang, and although he was turned around, he felt his call, flicked his tongue to recognise his scent, and slithered all the way to his king, wrapping himself around his arm, and from there, around his shoulders. 

“I want the gates reinforced! Ten men at each watchtower! And ten at each palace entrance! And every single officer who dared conspire against me, I want them shackled to wooden posts and displayed at the courtroom doors!”

“As Your Highness commands!” Low voices rose at once, as if reawakened. They obeyed with much more ardour than before, such as when the voices of those loyal have had enough of being silenced.

Time ceased breathing when the king walked down from his throne. Guards and officers watched in horror as he trudged to the doors, gesturing to have them opened. Behind him he left whispers, prayers, and curses. Whine noise, that clanged louder than any shout in protest.

“Should I prepare you the water, Your Highness?” Yeosang asked, his head raised up to the level of Hongjoong’s cheek.

“A bath. Boiling water. I need to purify.” 

*

Hongjoong lied bare on the concrete platform, with only the steam of the bath to hide his shame. His body fell limp into Yeosang’s hands, as he slowly, but roughly scrubbed the back of his neck, his deltoids, and down his spine. Hongjoong arched his neck and tilted his chin upwards to reveal more skin, and behind him Yeosang smiled. He wore only his cotton robe, the one he always had underneath, however loosely tied around his waist. Scrubbing the king’s skin with salt, Yeosang followed his order to rub until it became red and soft at the touch. Until there would be no dead skin left on him. 

Hongjoong had old, white scars on his back, and his hands and legs were bruised. The soles of his feet were chapped and beaten, and bruises lied underneath his toenails as well. Yeosang gently cupped his hand around Hongjoong’s heel, picking the cloth up with his other hand, as the king pulled his leg back shamefully. “Don’t look at them.”

“Why? I love them.”

Hongjoong scoffed. “Don’t be foolish.”

“I’m not. They toiled for this country. That is how the feet of any assiduous man should look like.” He stretched his hand, his palm inviting. “Don’t be ashamed. Please let me take care of you.”

He hesitated, but then he gave Yeosang his wordless permission. He looked away, at the steam rising from the basin, at the water droplets sliding down across the cement.

“I've never asked you,” Hongjoong began. His chest was glowing, dewy with water beads, and wet strands of hair were sticking to his neck, like untied decorative knots. “Did I come across as shameless?”

“Not to me. I like seeing you so bold.”

“Is there something you don’t like?” His tone became soft, like a cat’s in need of attention. “You always talk about things you like.”

“There is enough time for me to find out things I don’t like. For now, I just want to focus on things I do like. And find out more.”

A blossom of a smile bloomed on Hongjoong’s lips. He felt the same way. He wished there was something he didn’t like. Because if that, the spirit he loved more than he did anyone else would become more human. He thought of Yeosang as flawless.

Unlike himself.

“Can you promise me something?”

Yeosang dipped the cloth into the hot water, wrung the excess off, and wrapped it around Hongjoong’s feet to moisten the skin. “Your Highness, you are rebuilding me only out of promises.” He chuckled. “Of course. What is it?”

The look on his face, and the way his lips seemed to relax expressed insecurity. Yeosang remembered hearing the palace men talking about if the king was apprehensive the entire country might as well collapse below an earthquake.

“…No matter what I do. No matter how hard it becomes. No matter what I say, and no matter how violent I tend to get.” He said, and Yeosang frowned. “Don’t let me become a tyrant, I beg of you.” He swallowed, unsure of how to continue. “My great-grandfather went mad and killed ten of his confidants, two of his concubines, and one of his sons. My grandfather suffered from dementia.” And then he chuckled nervously, and swept his hair over his shoulders. “And I know there are so many things I am yet unaware of about _father_.” Yeosang looked up at him at the mention of his him. “No wonder they want me dead. They’ll think I’ll lose my mind.”

“Your-”

“But I feel it, you see. I feel it coming, and I don’t know how to stop it. I've felt it for so long. I’m losing my mind.”

“I don’t think you’re losing your mind. I also understand why you might be having this impression. I would also be…a lot more cautious, if I were you.”

“I know you wanted to say ‘paranoid’.”

“…Forgive me.”

“No, you’re correct. I am paranoid. I feel like I’m- I’m alone. I know I’m not. I know you’re here with me, but I- I don’t know.”

Yeosang watched him from the corner of his eyes, his eyebrows knitted together. He soaked the cloth into the clean water and wrung all the excess off right over Hongjoong’s feet, to rinse them. He was more concerned about Hongjoong’s words than the other was.

“What are you thinking about?” Hongjoong asked. 

Yeosang fixed his hairpin, as his knot was coming undone, and proceeded to dip his hand in lavender oil before rubbing Hongjoong’s ankles and feet. “I was thinking about who has the nerve to put doubt into my king’s mind.”

“What makes you think it’s someone?”

“That voice you spoke in just now. That did not sound like you. It sounded like an intrusive thought.” He mumbled as if he was talking to himself, taking a bit of water into his palm before wiping the oils off his hands. “I wonder who it was.” Then his eyebrows snapped upwards, and his eyes swung left and right across the floor in thought. “Was it me? Your Highness, have I been a negative influence on you?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “No. Quite a positive one. What are you on about?”

“Well,” he began, grabbing the pumice stone and rubbing against the sole of Hongjoong’s feet and heels, relieved that he wasn’t ticklish, and for once, well behaved. “This is why spirits must always remain at peace with themselves. Because if we don’t, bad things can happen around us. From natural disasters, to dark thoughts seeping through humans’ minds. But if another spirit has seeped in your mind, it means my presence is not enough. Or I must have done something wrong.”

“…There’s no other spirit around here. And there’s no one in my head either. Just a moment of vulnerability. It’ll wear off by tomorrow.”

“But it was too sudden.”

“When else am I to confide in you? During court meeting?”

Yeosang furrowed his eyebrows. “So you’ve been feeling like this for a while, then.”

“Yes. While you were away I struggled with sleeping. But it wasn’t because of me.” Yeosang hummed, theorising in his mind. He mixed the hot water with the room temperature one in a cup, and poured it over Hongjoong’s feet. The king lifted his head, following the trails of steam. The more he looked, the more they shaped into the crawlers he saw that night. “I woke up and I couldn’t move. Then I heard a snap like that of wood crackling. I thought there was a fire.”

“Was there?”

“No. It was a black silhouette. It made those sounds while crawling towards me.”

“Were you frightened?” He asked, concerned, twice as confused when he saw Hongjoong trying to keep himself from laughing. “What?”

“…I whistled at it.”

“You- What?”

“Yes. It was crawling too slow. And it was too dark for me to see. So I thought…if I whistle, I will draw it to me so I can see it better.”

Exasperated, Yeosang shook his head, and sighed. “I spend my days and nights drawing spirits away from you and cleansing every object from foreign energies…for you to call them to you when I’m away…Albeit, I have to admit, you did well.”

“I did? I just wanted to see it.”

“Yes, but they feed off fear, don’t they? They vanished when they saw you were more…”

“Entertained.”

“…Than fearful.”

“But do you know what it was?”

“Based on my experience, it could be a lot of things. Never thought I would ever advise someone this, but you should not worry about it, now that you know how to repel them. Has anything else happened?”

Hongjoong shook his head. The things he saw beneath his eyelids were better off not said. The faces and the sounds and the blood were not worth any depictions. Or what happened after. 

“I wanted to ask you.” Yeosang said. He wiped the water off his hands, then dipped them into oils and gently massaged Hongjoong’s feet and ankles, pulling them back onto his lap when he wanted to pull them away, finally feeling ticklish. “Don’t misunderstand my intentions, however.” Hongjoong inclined his head. “…Would you like to talk to your mother or father?”

“What?”

“I could make that happen for you. Through a ritual. I could reach them, and allow you to talk to them through me. If you wanted.”

Frustration gathered in between the creases of Hongjoong’s frown. To relieve the sudden tension from his body, Yeosang gently poured lotus essence water over his shoulders. Then, he flicked the back of his finger over Hongjoong’s chin to lift it up, both smiling at the other. “No.” He replied.

“Are you sure?”

A nod. “I dreamt about them. I don’t want to see them for now. But thank you.”

With a nod, Yeosang dismissed the subject and stood up to bring a new dry cloth, but Hongjoong grabbed the sleeve of his coat, almost pulling it off. He rose to his knees, and wrapped his arms around Yeosang’s waist, with his forehead pressed to his ribcage. “It’s alright, king,” Yeosang said. “I’m here.” 

“…I know.”

*

Yeosang sat at the desk, painting willows and rivers, occasionally peeking at Hongjoong to see if he was asleep. His shoulders and back were empty, his hair was untied, spread onto the mattress like ceremonial ribbons. He was restless, covering and uncovering himself. His back was facing Yeosang, and he refused to turn around.

Back in the royal court, Yeosang hesitated to tell Hongjoong about the letter, although it was valuable evidence. Finding more about who was faithful to the king was his job, and the Black Dragon Order was a yet unfinished case. Hongjoong knew this. Yeosang knew this too, but he could not help feeling guilty for having intruded in his life so much in such a short period of time. The next day, he had in mind to go back south and further investigate, but then it all depended on Hongjoong.

Yeosang was a vessel for the king to use, but above all that lied something else that his brain forbad him to name. His heart overflew with joy when their eyes met, and fictional flowers bloomed in his chest when they held hands. Sometimes he wished Hongjoong wasn’t king. He wished they lived a story that would go down in history as one of the greatest love tales ever told, until people started doubting that they ever existed. He was a sprit, he had no human worries.

He dipped his paintbrush in water, and as the tip touched the paper, Hongjoong made a sound that Yeosang’s never heard before coming from him. He jerked his head towards him, and saw his shoulder trembling, and his head was tucked into his chest. He was quietly sniffling, his face buried in his blanket. Yeosang rushed over to him, hesitantly touching his shoulder. “Your Highness,” He whispered, but it did not seem to reach him.

The sight was heartbreaking, and he could not help but remember how stern Hongjoong was just earlier on that day, how his eyes flared like a dragon’s as the traitors were being chained to the walls.

The sniffling sound seemed to stop, and Yeosang was ready to try and call him again, but he wiped his tears, and sat back up. He leaned his elbows against his knees, his eyes bloodshot, and cheeks dusted pink. Yeosang tucked his hair behind his ear and caressed his still wet temples with his thumb.

He spent a good number of hours eavesdropping what the scholars and other officials had to say, and they talked about Hongjoong more often than not. Some were doubtful that he was going to make it far at such a young age, some feared for themselves, and some compared him to kings from a dynasty ago, or even his father. Yeosang never bothered to find out how young Hongjoong was, as he could be a warrior, a child, a king, an adventurer, all in one. All claimed to know Hongjoong, but Yeosang was the only one who studied him. And he was there to stay. They were both there to stay.

Hongjoong lifted his hand to caress Yeosang’s cheek, and before he could register, he was pulled closer into a gentle kiss. Lips salty as the sea, rough like the sand beneath it, and warm as its shores. As tear stained as they were, Yeosang claimed them. In their purest, most vestal state. “I’m sorry,” Hongjoong murmured, the tip of their lips still touching. “I’m just grateful you’re here with me. I’m so grateful.”

Even closed, the corners of Yeosang’s eyes burned. He inhaled sharply as if to preserve his breath. “No,” He whispered. “Why would you ever feel sorry for that? Please don’t feel sorry.”

Yeosang kissed him back, his fingers touching his cheek. The words rang in his head as clearly as a wave’s backwash, and no matter how much he loved waxing poetics to confuse Hongjoong, there was nothing in his mind that could eclipse those words. He’s lived for centuries, devoid of any form of human connection, or the purest form of romance.

“And I. You don’t know how grateful I am for you.”

Yeosang kissed away all the salt from Hongjoong’s lips, and with that, all the sorrow. When he opened his eyes, he saw his love smiling, his eyes and lips glowing in the sunset, and his skin bright like ember.

“I do know. You would not have gone through such lengths for me if you weren’t.” He confessed, and Yeosang chuckled into their kiss, because it was true. Through short glares and chats, the king grew to be someone he was very fond of. Hongjoong made him feel like there was no such thing as social class. He visited the palace in secret almost every day since, watching him spar, give speeches, and resting by the pavilion all by himself, but his duties forbade him to approach him. “You were there when I wanted someone next to me.”

“But there were times when I wasn’t.”

“You are now, and you’re so close, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Well,” Yeosang pulled his sleeve over his fingers and gently patted along the apples of Hongjoong’s cheeks. “You could start by wiping these tears. You've cried enough.” He said on a tone that was motherly yet stern, and Hongjoong raised, soared, and ascended with a love more powerful than any manmade weapon, more powerful than lighting that birthed flames.

“I wonder what I did in my past life to have you gifted to me in this one.”

Yeosang shook his head. “I wish I knew, but in our next one, I will chase you if I have to.”

Hongjoong bumped his forehead against Yeosang’s, playfully, to distract him from his need to cry, and laughed at his reaction. “What was that?” He asked, his eyes wide.

“Mingi does this to me. Bump his head into mine to make me smile.” Yeosang smiled sorrowfully, taking all that was Hongjoong. He allowed himself to weep tears to cleanse his eyes for a new view. His tears ran down his face along with images of Hongjoong when he was anything less than what he became that day. “I know why I’m crying, but why are _you_?”

“It’s not easy for me to watch you cry.”

And Hongjoong allowed it. He allowed Yeosang to weep, but only while he smiled. He watched him wipe his tears with his sleeves, giggling as he apologised. He watched his cheeks turn rosy out of timidity, and he reached to kiss both of them, leaving his lips to linger there until it soaked up all the salt.

The sun descended within the horizon, the moon travelled across the sky, and they were still cradled in each other’s arms. With their eyes closed, they learned each other through the scent of their skins and hair, through the warmth and texture of their voice. They stole secrets from in between each other’s lips, until one’s history became the other’s, and until the other’s shame became the former’s. They learned to kiss each other with the innocence of a maiden, and the passion of a courtesan. And by that alone, Yeosang learned that he was the first one Hongjoong has ever kissed. He shamelessly lied his head on Yeosang’s lap, looking at him through tired eyes. He played with the strands of his hair, fascinated by their glow. “Will you tell me some of your tales?”

Yeosang carded his hand through Hongjoong’s hair, sweeping it away from his face. He started to love how Hongjoong’s red looked over his white. “What tales would you like to hear?”

“You lived for so long, you must have done plenty of things worth sharing.”

Yeosang raised his head, humming thoughtfully.

He’s lost the concept of time long ago. He has, indeed, seen so many places and twice as many people, that their architecture and faces starting blending together in his head. The farthest he’s ever been was Java island, where he pet his first leopard and had a mouse-deer as a companion for several months, until it got eaten by the aforementioned leopard. Yeosang was so saddened by the chevrotain’s death that he flew away back to his mountain cave and cried to San about it.

“I could tell you about the time I was a boy.”

Hongjoong linked his fingers with Yeosang’s and leaned their hands over his chest. “You were a boy once?”

“Yes. I was not born a spirit. But then San hyungnim found me and made me into what I am today.”

“Do you remember anything from back then?”

“Very little. But I do remember some things. Like the inn my parents owned. The main guest room was only for noblemen and foreigners, but I slept there when it was empty because it was very spacious and comfortable. I remember my father almost setting the inn on fire while trying to cook. I had a very uneventful life. I spent more time playing the flute than I spent helping my parents. Until one day when my mother took it from me…But I knew where she hid it so I took it back.”

“Mischievous since you were a child, I see.”

“Oh, please, I was the perfect son. My mother’s friends used to compare their sons to me. But as you know, that never ends well.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing, just beat me to death.”

“Over something so trivial?”

“I remember their parents forcing them to do things they didn’t want. They rebelled against their families and killed livestock as a form of revenge. And for fun as well. They were horrible.” Hongjoong squeezed his hand and caressed the back of it with his thumb. "But then I was reborn and I killed them all.” Hongjoong’s eyes were wide open, his hand still.

“Did you really?”

“No, I just made their lives a living hell. San hyungnim told me not to show myself to my parents, so I resided over the roof of my old home until they died. I brought them warm winters and cool summers, kind guests and expensive gifts. Whatever I overheard them ask for, next morning I would bring it to them, no matter how far I had to travel…But you know what they said one night? They were looking out the window. They were together. They wrapped themselves in a fur blanket I brought them, and they said ‘Yeosangie, my little sun, thank you’…I cried so much that night. San hyungnim said that my pain grew so much, that winds started changing course, so he had to summon me back to the mountain.”

Hongjoong lifted himself up and turned to look at Yeosang again. “Were you alone through all of this? Or were there other spirits?” A part of him was worried that the spirit was deluged with unwanted memories, but he was met with the same pair of gentle eyes. Almost as if looking at Hongjoong quelled everything.

“I was alone. And furious at the world. I made so many mistakes, and did so many things out of spite and pride and envy.” He sunk his hand through Hongjoong’s hair, twirling a red lock around his finger. His eyes were empty. “In this world of spirits, we have something called _Solitude_ , which is exactly what it sounds like. We can either be sent into a life of solitude for a given number of years, punished into it, forced into it, or sometimes even by choice.”

“Which one have you gone through?”

“All of those.”

“You chose to? And punished too?”

“There are plenty of reasons a spirit can be sent into Solitude. From abuse of power to neglect of duties to loss of self. There was a time when I did bad things. Like when I was so close to killing those who killed me. The torture I put them through. I was punished for it. Five years into Solitude. I served only three, then I heard that my parents had died, and I went to take revenge again. And San hyungnim forced me into Solitude again.”

That swept the sleep away from Hongjoong’s eyes, and he looked at Yeosang as curiously as he did when his father read him from history books. “When was the last time you lived that kind of life? Was it recently?”

“No. I’ve been clean for the past one hundred years. I lived an anger free life, and I am proud of it. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You haven’t been angry for a century? Please teach me.”

“…Well, I do feel like that is about to change very soon.”

“I hope you know you are insufferable.”

“I can tell you haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”

“I’ve never had someone talk back to me like you do.”

“I know. And I am about to have a lot of fun with that.”

Almost for the rest of the night, Yeosang told him about the numerous times he went to other neighbour countries, and how loving the nature spirits are there. He confessed to having stolen earthenwares, porcelains, weapons, clothes, books, and almost everything he’s ever wanted. Things he knew would not carry through history. He also talked about his struggle with reading and writing when he was a boy, and how San took the matter in his own hands and taught him everything.

In the second half of the night, Yeosang listened to Hongjoong’s childhood stories. The king’s eyes were closed and his words often trailed off. His cheek was squished against the pillow and his face seemed to further bury into it as he was falling asleep, but he found it in him to smile. Yeosang lied next to him, with his chin in the heel of his palm, balancing his feet in the air, and soothingly scratching Hongjoong’s scalp to usher him to sleep. Soon after, his breaths evened out and his hands relaxed. Seeing how peaceful the king looked, Yeosang began to miss sleeping in the real meaning of the word. All he had to do is close his eyes, pretend to meditate, and he would dream the dreams San sent his way. Then Yeosang would materialise dreams in his mind and send them to San.

He made his way to his desk, picked an empty sheet of paper, his brush, and started writing poetry for when Hongjoong was going to wake up. But he would often get distracted by him, at how peacefully he slept. He missed his face so much already, that he took his paper and sat down on the floor, much closer to him. 


	5. Burned To Rawness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When he was restless, he wanted to know as much as San did, whether it was about the past or future. When he was cheerful, he was grateful to the endless tomorrows he’s had to surprise him, and all the time he was given to explore the world."

Beds were arranged for each councillor and minister living too far away, and the ones who lived close by were either spied on, or followed all the way home until their wives and children recognised them. The ones who committed treason were chained by wooden posts which were built on each side of the path leading to the courtroom. They were stripped of their robes, left only in their undergarments, and were only to receive plain rice once a day.

Because of this, Yeosang had not spent time at all on ground. Either floating, or stationing himself atop of the roof of the king’s building while he was busy with affairs. He sought San’s help, as he was unsure if his actions were wise and right. In exchange, San gave him an answer similar to a riddle, which Yeosang had not yet understood. He spent so much time lying supine, with his eyes closed, thinking about San’s words, that he lost track of his king. He opened his eyes with the panic of a single father having lost his child. As he scrutinised the palace grounds, his eyes fell upon the prisoners still undergoing their public humiliation. He was tempted to go interrogate them once again, but they were furious at the world, and uncooperative, and regardless of the mental misery they dwelled in, it was not enough to deter Yeosang’s love for humanity. That day was serener than the other, or so the winds told him, so he went to search for Hongjoong. 

Yeosang found him sitting by himself, perched over the wooden gate of the temple where the guards often trained. Hongjoong had shared with him his schedule, but Yeosang’s biggest weakness was remembering time-related things. 

He held his hand fan timidly to his chest, unsure of how to approach the king. But as he saw him sitting with his knees to his chest, his chin buried in the heel of his palm, and with a slight pout on his face, he smiled. “Your Highness, I see you sulking. Has someone upset you?”

Hongjoong pursed his lips into an even bigger pout. “I’m not sulking. I’m bored.”

“Bored?”

Yeosang sat down beside him, in the same said sulking position. His tongue was itching to scold him.

“Yes. Mingi and Jongho are off doing military drills. No one will spar with me.”

Hongjoong was staring off in the distance, not noticing the deep, offended frown on Yeosang’s face. He stood up, smoothening his robe with his hand, and jumped off the fence. He threw his fan in the air, and instead, two practice swords fell into his hands. “Shall we?”

Hongjoong jumped off the fence with the excitement of a child. “You know sword fighting?”

“Your Highness, I know a lot of things. I’ve had several lifespans to learn everything from sword fighting to weaving.” He tossed Hongjoong his sword, as the other caught it smoothly by its grip.

Yeosang’s stance was perfect, but too smooth for Hongjoong. However what angered him the most was the playfulness in his eyes, like he was not about to take him seriously. When Hongjoong held a sword before anyone, regardless of who, they became nothing but an opponent until one of them faltered. When the sword’s grip dug indents in his palm, he knew no friendship or love. Yeosang, on the other hand, still looked at Hongjoong as he did when they were about to fall asleep next to each other. Much to the king’s dismay, he found that very distracting. He filled his lungs with air, then exhaled softly, before gritting his teeth and charging forward, going in for a clean, diagonal slash, which Yeosang countered, crossing his sword with his. One hand was on the hilt, the other one pressed flat against the side of the blade, like his sword was his shield. Hongjoong stepped back as Yeosang turned to his side, his sword to the level of his hip, like he already read the king’s next move. Hongjoong charged forward once again, his sword above his head, aimed for a shoulder cleave, but Yeosang dodged it by once again crossing his sword’s crossguard with his, swinging Hongjoong’s body in the other direction. Hongjoong lost his balance, but regained it in less than a second, swiping his sword horizontally towards Yeosang’s neck, but he only tilted his head to dodge it, with a smirk on his lips. “My king, you’re so captivating when you’re angry.” With a growl to match a lion's, Hongjoong lunged at him with a powerful swing, and as his sword was a breath away from meeting Yeosang’s, he saw the spirit closing his eyes and aligning his sword with his shoulders in an attempt to block it. He opened his eyes and, at breakneck speed, he twisted his sword, making Hongjoong lose the grip of his. His empty hands burned red, his pulse beating in his palms, as his sword spun in the air, like a samara seed being carried by the wind. The sword’s blade dug into the soil, and with that, Hongjoong exhaled sharply, staring somewhere over Yeosang’s shoulder as if he saw something more supernatural than him. Yeosang bowed shortly before him before going to pick Hongjoong’s sword up, but when he turned back around, he saw the king walking away from him.

Yeosang smiled lovingly, waiting for Hongjoong to reclaim his seat on the fence and start sulking again, but when he saw him opening the gate and walking past the doors, with no intention of looking back, he dropped his sword and followed him. “Your Highness,” He grabbed his wrist loosely. “Have I upset you?”

“No. I made myself upset.” Hongjoong rested his hand over Yeosang’s, but did not push it away. “I want to learn from you. Will you teach me?”

“I have nothing to teach you, Your Highness, you are already skilled enough.”

Hongjoong took Yeosang’s hand between his and held it above his chest, his eyes sparkling with interest and will. “Your technique was different. And tactic as well. I’ll bring you twice as more offerings if you do.”

Yeosang was never a sword fighter. Some hundreds of years ago, he disguised himself as a martial arts student in a secluded temple near Kamakura, where he chose a Japanese name for himself and trained to become a samurai to serve the _Taishogun._ He was deemed one of the most exceptional students as well, until he was to be drafted for the civil war, and he left. From there he flew to the Mongol Empire, but soon fled from there as well right before the civil war of Toluid happened, but not before learning a thing or two about their warfare and mounted archery. And basket weaving.

“I never enjoyed fighting. Or sparring. My technique is making my opponent lose their weapon before they have a chance to attack me with it. I have no interest in hurting anyone who hasn’t hurt me or someone I love.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

Yeosang made a questionable noise in the back of his throat, similar to a short whine in protest. “Y-Yes.”

He became uncomfortably aware of the height difference between the two. It wasn’t much, but enough for his heart to be filled with a foreign kind of love. Almost parental. He wasn’t very fond of it.

“I’m very impressed with you. The only people who have ever defeated me were my master, Mingi, and you. I would love to see you wielding a sword in a real fight.”

“I would not be using a sword, first and foremost.”

“What would you be using?”

Yeosang pulled his fan from somewhere underneath his sleeve, waved his hand over it, as it slowly became enveloped in a thick, white fog, with white feathers swirling around it, until what lied in Yeosang’s hand was a black iron fan. Its guards were gleaming like mirrors, and thin spikes were poking out from beneath its leaves. The edge of the fan’s guards were as sharp as blades. “This.”

He placed the fan in Hongjoong’s hands to hold, as the king unfolded it, raising it up to the sunlight, then running his finger over the guard, until blood started beading up at the surface of his skin. “Sharper than I imagined. Who forged this?” He asked, handing it back.

Yeosang shrugged his shoulders and took several steps back. “I’m not sure. I had this for centuries.” Without warning, Hongjoong threw the wooden sword in his direction as if it was a spear, but his heart ceased beating as he saw Yeosang casually unfolding his iron fan and cutting through the wood in a perfect horizontal line. Then he calmly brought it back to the level of his chest, fluttering it under his chin. Hongjoong whistled in appreciation, softly clapping his hands. “I knew you were going to do that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. Your actions are the quickest I’ve been able to predict. For whatever reason, you love startling me.”

Hongjoong flashed a guilty, but extremely proud grin. “Because your reactions are entertaining.”

Yeosang wanted to tease him back, but saw the way Hongjoong’s fingers from his right hand were shaking. “You’re during your break now, yes?”

“I am, but,” Hongjoong looked at the sky, shielding them from the bright light. Yeosang saw him doing that often when asked about the time, and the king even bothered to explain it to him twice, the passage of time by the phases of the sun, but Yeosang nodded just to be kind. “I should be going soon. Join me?”

“I would, but I feel like there are some parts of this story that I’m lacking. Do I have your permission to interrogate the prisoners?”

“You’re the one who found them. It’s only fair you do whatever you want with them.”

Yeosang shook his head. “No. I brought them for you.”

“Well, I resent them. They’re not part of the royal palace anymore, and the only reason they’re alive is because they’re at your mercy. I would peel their skin alive and have it sown onto my scabbard, should they not be useful.”

Yeosang lowered his head with a nod, taking in the king’s words. Hongjoong turned around to leave, but three steps in, he faced him again as if he had forgotten something. “Yeosang-ah. You need to feed, don’t you? I haven’t seen you feed since we’ve met.”

Yeosang nodded, guiltily, like a cat caught in the act. “…Correct.”

“And why haven’t you said anything?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up to you.”

“So you’ve been starving yourself just because suddenly you’ve decided to be shy.”

“I tried looking for alternatives.”

“And have you found any?”

“W-Well,” He stuttered, shaming away, and raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck. A very uncharacteristic way of him to express shyness, Hongjoong noticed. “Feeding on your energy seemed to have worked. For a while.”

“And how do you do that?”

Yeosang crossed his hands at his back, his blood running up to his cheeks, then shifted to hide his hands underneath his sleeves. “Do you have a place in mind where I could go?”

“This is the third time you avoid my questions.”

“And the third time I don’t feel comfortable answering. Now, will you tell me?”

Hongjoong sighed in a way that he wanted to seem amused, as he was too prideful to even remotely admit defeat. “Let me finish with the court hearing and I will join you.”

“You needn’t come with me.”

“No, but I want to.”

By the way Yeosang frowned at him, he also refused to admit defeat.

They walked beside each other until Hongjoong excused himself. Yeosang turned around the other way.

Before going to meet the prisoners, he paid a short visit to the kitchen, and returned to the court doors, where they still sat, tied to their joints, and drooling from their mouths, with patches of sunburns scarring their already red skin, and breaths wheezing out passed the gap between their teeth, as their lips were rough with dryness, and any movement would make them bleed.

Yeosang sat down on his knees before the one at the beginning of the row, at a safe distance. Beside him he placed his hand fan, and next to it, a plate of rice balls. It did not take long before the captive was reawakened by the smell of food, and he lifted his head with the strength he hasn’t had in a long time, pulling himself forward with his tongue loose from his mouth to break out of his restrains. Yeosang clenched his teeth in disgust, but maintained his composure. With the corner of his eye, he saw Jongho and Mingi joining him, setting themselves on each side of the wooden post, with their swords ready to hold the man back. “I will ask you some questions, and for every answer that I’m happy with, I will feed you one bite. I know you haven’t eaten in days.”

Jongho stole Mingi a glance, then both turned to watch Yeosang. Their hearts filled with warmth at his compassion, and his ability to maintain his tone kind and soft.

They have been wondering what his relationship with the king was, and what was it about him that made him favour him so much. The subject of Eunbaem became a very popular one through the palace men. Some considered his presence a blessing, and continued to send him offerings, some not so much, but not enough to be a curse.

The prisoner pressed his lips together to elevate their numbness. His left eyelid was bruised, and his skin looked nothing less of a dry field. He started nibbling at his lower lip, and Yeosang watched blood beading up at the surface. “Fuck you.” He grunted.

Yeosang sighed calmly, a merciful look in his eyes. Without answering, he picked the smallest rice ball up and took a bite from it, holding back a smile when he heard the man whimper.

“What do you want to know?” The man asked, and his voice was yellow leaves, dead skin, and drought.

“I saw that mark you have on your body. The one that looks like livestock branding. Where is that from?”

On his hip, the man had a circle burned into his skin, and inside it were three vertical lines, and a horizontal one across it. It was meant to be hidden underneath his trousers.

“I assume it’s from the Black Dragon Order?”

The man nodded.

“Alright then. I’m listening.”

“It’s…It’s how they tell the ranks apart.”

“I take it you were of high rank?”

He nodded. And expanded no further. Yeosang waited, eventually taking another bite.

“Will you kill me?”

Yeosang shook his head, picking up a rice grain from the corner of his mouth. “I’d rather not. I like to think I’m kind and patient.” He picked his hand fan up, and with its guard, he lifted the man’s chin. “I advise you not to take advantage of it. Now speak.”

The captive man pulled back with a grimace on his face, and wiped the blood on his lips against his shoulder. “He had…Our mothers and brothers and sisters captured.”

Yeosang hummed empathetically with a nod, seemingly collected, although he was not made to listen to magic stories. “Sungjo?”

He nodded. “He promised us fortune. But then. Don’t they all.”

“And where is your family now?”

“My sister became his concubine. Against her will.”

“Is that how he gathered all of you?”

Another nod.

Yeosang tore a piece of the rice ball and, as promised, fed it to him. “Were you sent here to kill the king?”

The man shook his head, and visibly bit his tongue. “Just to report. Everything.”

“But you were just a scholar. Your job is not to be around the king unless-” He paused abruptly, and his chest grew cold with anxiety. They all waited for him to continue. “We’re done here.” He gave him the rest of the rice ball and stood up, not looking back.

Until the meeting was over, Yeosang sat together with Mingi and Jongho, watching happily as they devoured the rest of the rice balls away from everyone’s eyes. He picked a rice grain stuck to Jongho’s cheek with his fingers and fed it back to him, and Mingi almost choked on his water over how flustered Jongho became.

“You should ask the king to assign us as your personal guards. That way we can sit like this more often.” Mingi said.

“But are you not meant to be guarding him instead?”

“Your Lordship has been guarding him better than any mother and guardian and guard dog at once.”

Yeosang paused. “I can’t tell if that was an insult or not.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But what are you to the king anyway?” Mingi asked, and both Yeosang and Jongho were taken aback by the informal way he shaped his question. Jongho grabbed his scabbard and hit Mingi against the back of his head, muttering an insult as he did. “I mean-”

“Oh, no, pay it no mind. I’m not very sure how to answer that question. We have been talking a lot. I supposed I’m something of a confidant.” He said, picking up his fan, and dusting off his robe in the process. “You’ll have to excuse me for now, I have to go tend to my brother’s shrine.”

At first he received nods as answers, as both Jongho and Mingi were shocked to see the amount of courtesy Yeosang carried himself with. He effortlessly was as delicate as the maidens’ mothers want their sons to marry, but he held his shoulders back and his chin high as proudly as a king. It was not uncommon for the palace people to pause their conversations when Yeosang approached. He was a very pleasant and refreshing sight to look at, and godly omen when he would bid them a good day.

“Where is your brother’s shrine?”

Yeosang pointed north. “Up the mountain. Quite a walk from here.”

Picking his hat up, Jongho clumsily stood up and hurriedly corrected his pose. “Would you like company, Your Lordship?”

Yeosang smiled a brotherly smile, and went to adjust the beads hanging from his hat. “Thank you, but there’s no need. I will be back before you know it.”

Jongho nodded, kicking Mingi in the shin when he heard him snickering. With a last bow, Yeosang was off.

He flew over to the mountain, at the beginning of the path which led to San’s shrine. It was the kind of path that humans would avoid walking through, where they would hear voices calling their names, or eyes following them around until they walked off the mountain. Shamans once came to purify the spirit, and Yeosang refused to ever talk about the time he almost lost an eye trying to scare them off.

Although he was able to rebuild the shrine from dust with his eyes closed because of the many times he’s seen it, Yeosang always smiled at the sight of it, whether San was there in the form of a fictional flower, a whirl of leaves, a tiger, or even snow. Or sometimes not at all. Yeosang was at his serenest when he was there.

“I have so much on my mind, brother,” He said, collecting the wilted flowers from around the shrine, delicately between his thumb and forefinger, as to not let their leaves chip away. “Last time I felt so tired was before my last night as a human.” He laid the flowers into his lap, now collecting the petals that had fallen around the incense burners. “I feel like I want to sleep. I need to rest, and I don’t understand why.” He stood up and walked over to the edge of the mountain, softly blowing over the petals in his hand, as they started swirling around him, and one of them poked his nose to draw his attention. The petals, along with the dead leaves, started aligning as if forming a path, then one by one they flew forward, in a straight line towards the town. The palace grounds could be seen from the mountain peak, and a sorrowful smile sketched Yeosang’s lips when the petals fell over the roof of the courtroom. “Oh, you,” he teased San, and as he clutched the dead flowers into his arms, he felt them lifting themselves from his hands. They began gaining softness and colour, their scent new and powerful. They floated away from Yeosang’s hands and once again, in an arch, down to the palace. “Why must you hurt me like this?” Yeosang whispered, watching the flowers becoming smaller in the distance, until they were gone from his sight. He turned around, walking over to the shrine, as a chilly wind blew right over his eyes, enough to make Yeosang shiver. “I’m not crying, don’t worry.” He grabbed a clean cloth, and with the other hand, he held the little bells still in his hand, as he dusted them off. “It’s just,” Before letting them fall, watching them pendulate. The soft and cheerful ring made him smile. “I’ve been happier.”

San’s eyes were everywhere around him. In the clouds, in the sunset, in the trees, and within the pebbles paving his shrine. Yeosang felt him smile, but it was nowhere near sorrowful. When he was restless, he wanted to know as much as San did, whether it was about the past or future. When he was cheerful, he was grateful to the endless tomorrows he’s had to surprise him, and all the time he was given to explore the world.

Around this time of year, he would be somewhere else. At a festival in another country celebrating whichever local god, in the corner of a forest where endangered flowers grew, or in a place where they made new musical instruments. He could be there, inventing a musical instrument that he would name after him, that people will play in hundreds of years from then, that would make a sound never before heard.

Instead, he sat down on a rock formation, watching the sunset, his mind as empty as the streets were crowded. The wind tasted sweet, like floral oils, and warm, almost human.

San didn’t plan these things. In fact, he hardly had emotions himself. The phenomena that happened around his shrine were not reflections of his thoughts, at least not all the time. Instead, they were a representation of universal truth.

The breeze that blew around Yeosang’s shoulders didn’t necessarily bear a floral scent, but that is how his mind seemed to perceive it. That is what his heart wanted. And San provided.

Once the sun had set, he said his prayers, followed by his goodbyes, and flew back to the palace, waiting for Hongjoong right where his horse was being prepared for their departure. His eyes fell over the court officials engaging in small talk, as one of them pulled a set of papers from his pocket. They were not aware they were being watched. “Lord Eunbaem!” A thin and melodic voice said, and Yeosang almost tripped over and fell over the rooftop. He searched for the voice, only to find the same young boy he had talked to earlier. “Choi Jongho?” He made sure, and the boy smiled so proudly. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just wanted to startle you.”

Yeosang arched his eyebrow. “Well you managed.” He jumped down, and since Jongho had never seen how gracefully he can land, he raised his arms to catch him, his hands, in the end, finding purchase on his waist.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He tilted his head, considering. “Were you headed somewhere?”

Jongho shook his head. His eyes were slightly dilated. “I wanted to ask if you’re alright.”

“I am. I went to see my brother, and I’m better now. I hope you didn’t beat that man up too much.”

“I usually don’t when Mingi hyung is there to stop me.” He scratched the back of his head shyly, and Yeosang chuckled. “I’ve been considering this lately.”

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if we became friends too?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you the same.”

Jongho raised his head so suddenly, that his hat fell little over his eyebrows. He awkwardly adjusted it. “Really?”

“Really. I did not know how to approach you. I saw the way you handle a sword, and I’ve been meaning to compliment you. I was beyond impressed.”

“Thank you. My king has told me that you had sparred and that he was gracefully defeated. Would you let me in on your secrets?”

“Of course.” Yeosang nodded, and with utmost seriousness, he cleared his throat and placed his hands one over the other. “My secret is that I am scared of swords, and I don’t like it when people point them at me, so I make them get rid of it.”

He had never expected Jongho to laugh as if he heard the joke of the century. It was a pleasing sound, that it made him laugh as well. “I was not joking.”

“He really wasn’t.” Yeosang whipped his head around, to find Hongjoong joined by Song Mingi. “You should have seen the way my sword flew.”

His hair was tied in a topknot, and he wore his bead stringed hat, and a much darker coloured overcoat. He touched Yeosang’s back rather roughly, like a soft slap, but his touch lingered nonetheless.

“You haven’t told me where you’re headed.” Mingi asked.

The question caught Hongjoong off guard, so he passed it onto Yeosang. “Right, where did you say you’ll take me?”

And Yeosang gave him the look of a tired parent of six, which Hongjoong enjoyed seeing. “I wanted to introduce His Highness to my brother today. I was also considering leaving him there.” And immediately raised his index finger to Hongjoong, gesturing for him to not even attempt to talk back to him. For once, it had worked like magic. Even Mingi and Jongho were impressed. “Shall we?”

“If you take that last part back, I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, guess I’m going alone, then.”

He bowed before them all, and off he was. Holding his fan opened at his back, and his hands crossed, he walked away from them, his hair swaying like gold strings about to be embroidered. He was about to approach the posts where the prisoners still slept. He clenched his fists and tried to pay them no mind. Maids and noblemen were bowing before him, and he lowered his head just as respectfully. The guards straightened their backs and opened the gates for him, and as soon as he set foot outside the palace, he heard the sound of galloping growing closer and closer. As he turned around, Hongjoong stormed past him, his fiery hair loose, and turned his head with a smug grin on his lips, sticking his tongue out. “You’re too slow!” He shouted, and faded into the distance, with only the echo of his laughter ringing sweetly in Yeosang’s ears.

“You…infant.” He stomped his foot against the ground and, as he walked, he shapeshifted into his fox form, catching full speed as he followed Hongjoong. The wind lifted his paws off the ground, and he found himself weightless and carried faster. He grit his teeth and pushed forward, bending the layer of air that kept him afloat. The distance between them seemed to close up, and when he finally surpassed Hongjoong, he caught a glimpse of the shocked look in his eyes, before charging on ahead one last time. When he was at a safe distance from him, he climbed over a heap of rocks and sat down, panting softly with his tongue sticking out, and his tail wagging in anticipation.

Hongjoong dismounted his horse, and looked around with eyes wide open. Yeosang laid low, not exactly blending in with the landscape, but he was not going to miss the opportunity to surprise Hongjoong. He, however, raised his head when he was spotted. “There you are.” He leapt down with a twig between his teeth and ran over to Hongjoong.

“Will you fetch it I throw it?”

In theory, no, he did not, as he was no dog. But there was something about having his fur pat, digging holes, rolling into crackling leaves, and chewing on twigs while he was in his fox form, that he genuinely enjoyed. He never quite thought about why.

He rose back onto his hind paws and wagged his tail. Hongjoong threw the twig not very far, and Yeosang caught it in between his teeth a second before it fell. Hongjoong welcomed him with opened arms, scratching at the fur around his neck, and along his spine, and Yeosang whimpered, but it sounded very much like a low chirp. “I quite like this form of yours, you know. I could do this all day.”

The first time he shapeshifted, he was alone and in a constant panic. He did not know how to use his voice while in that form, nor to control his brain so that he would move. The world was sharper and much taller, and so became the scents around him. He walked around the forest, sniffing and learning how to use the new environment to his advantage, until he saw his first squirrel, and, for unknown reasons, he started chasing and playing with it, with no intent to hurt it. The same when he turned into a snake. Mice suddenly looked very appetising. But he quickly learned that he was not meant to get along with others of his species. So it was safe to say that while he was shapeshifted, the instinct of the animal had a tendency to take over.

He dropped the twig from his teeth, and began sniffing the ground, tilting his head left, then right, then left again when something would spark his curiosity. For a second, Hongjoong watched him, and forgot he was even human.

They rode along the outskirts of town, farther than Hongjoong’s ever wandered off on his own. Yeosang’s presence was nowhere near as unnerving and demoralising as the guards’. As the king was not wearing his usual scarlet garment and his crown, he did not feel the need to nag him to keep his back straight. More than that, he decided not to be human for a while. For once, the stars aligned in Hongjoong’s favour.

Along the path, there were abandoned hanok houses, with heaps of debris at every door, torn roofs, and shattered furnaces. In other words, a plethora of elements that Hongjoong heard only in ghost stories, and he was very excited to witness with his own eyes, whereas Yeosang could not step more cautiously. He perked his fluffy ears up and sprinted on ahead, with Hongjoong’s eyes locked on him. The place he had in mind when Yeosang mentioned dead bodies was a focal point by the river where people disposed of corpses after they committed murder, or a popular suicide spot. He was told to keep away from it, and the only reason why he did was that he forgot about it.

In the distance, Hongjoong saw Yeosang metamorphosing back, and standing underneath a dead tree with his fan over his nose. The robes he wore were dawn coloured, the veils that decorated his sash swayed in the air like wind chimes, along with his air. As he approached him, Hongjoong parted his mouth to ask why he was so still, but on the other side of the road, a rope was hooked around a high tree branch, and from it hung a man. Bald, blue-skinned, and with torn, dusty garments. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and his pupils were pointed towards the sky. A fly crawled out of his nose, and more were eating away at the black underneath his nails. Seeing the reluctance in Yeosang’s eyes, Hongjoong unsheathed his short sword and cut through the rope, watching emotionlessly as the man fell onto the ground like a sack of rice, almost in a straight line, but with his head heavily distorted.

“Get away from here.” Yeosang whispered, taking the sword from Hongjoong’s hand. His fingers trembled against the blade.

“No. I want to see.”

Yeosang exhaled a low breath, like a first wind blow before a storm. “If you don’t stay away from me, I’ll leave. I’ll go somewhere else and you won’t see me even if you’ll summon me.”

“But I know how hard this is for you. I know how much you hate it. I can’t leave you alone. How about I turn around? And I’ll cover my ears? I promise I won’t look.”

Yeosang smirked. “I’ll make you a deal. You go back and wait for me back where the paths fork, and I’ll allow you to come with me every time I need to feed. Or…you stay here and watch me do it, and never come with me again.”

Hongjoong held the reins tighter, and all the stubbornness in his blood wanted to outstare Yeosang, but by the way he was holding the sword, ready to drop it and to fly away, Hongjoong faltered. With an obstinate groan, he tugged on the reins, and the horse turned around.

He walked slowly, his ears focused on how Yeosang dragged the body by the rope, how the sword cut through the man’s clothes, and even tilted his head to look around when he heard Yeosang hissing as he thrusted the blade into the man’s chest. Or stomach, he didn’t know. He swiped the sword downwards in a line, before dropping it, and forcing his hands back through the corpse’s viscera, tossing out intestines like they were gift wrappings. The sound made Hongjoong’s veins run dry, and he ended up reciting poems to himself in whispers, just to distract himself. But as he finished the first stanza, behind him Yeosang growled, and soon came a sound of squelching as he sunk his fangs against whichever organ he was holding, and the noise it made when he tore a chunk apart was like that of stepping into sleet. Hongjoong held himself from gagging at the thought of how could one possibly chew on a raw liver, and the veins and artery attached to it. But strangely, nothing else made him sick. His eyes were closed, and his imagination vivid with sequences of Yeosang’s bloody cheeks, red staining his robes and glowing skin, and Hongjoong wiping his skin clean with nothing but his tongue. He did not wait where the paths forked, like he had promised. The warmth he felt below his stomach was worth breaking a quarter of the deal.

The night was quiet enough for him to hear Yeosang digging his hand through the man’s ribcage, and bones snapping apart with fury, as he couldn’t reach his heart. Hongjoong leaned his head forward with a sigh, as Yeosang tore the heart in two and sucked it dry of what blood was left of it, while moaning softly like he did when they slept together. He heard no sounds of chewing, just a low, muffled one, as the first chunk sled down his throat. Hongjoong swallowed hard, simultaneously with Yeosang.

Hongjoong’s back was still facing him, and he was at what he considered a safe distance. He hung the horse’s reins against a branch, patting his mane as he was trying to gain the courage to go back. “He’s going to hate me anyway.” He whispered before finally turning around and making his way back.

Yeosang sat kneeled at quite the distance from the mutilated body, with his cheeks and lips soaked in blood, and his palms facing upwards underneath his chin, to welcome any droplets. Hongjoong proceeded with caution, his eyes switching from Yeosang to the ground in search of his sword. He nearly spat out the filthiest of curses when he stepped on the man’s intestines displayed all around him.

“Yeosang?” He attempted, and held his steps. “Are you alright?”

Yeosang grunted, and his thin, forked tongue sled out of his mouth to lick at the blood on his fingers, and Hongjoong watched him with utmost adoration. The blue in his eyes was gone, and now they gave a reddish luster. 

Hongjoong’s instincts were tingling, telling him that it was not the right time to approach him, but because of Yeosang, he’s developed a blind sense of trust, and with that, recklessness. He reached his hand to touch his cheek, as Yeosang grit his bloody fangs and lunged at him, wrapping one scaled hand around his throat. His claws pierced the back of Hongjoong’s neck, and he grit his teeth in an attempt to push him off, but as he gathered his strength, Yeosang clawed at the robe on his shoulders and bit right through his deltoid. With the last sliver of breath Hongjoong had in him, he tossed his head back and screamed, wrapping both his hands around Yeosang’s wrist to pull him off. Startled by the sound, Yeosang jolted up and pushed himself off, holding his hand over his bloody mouth. “Hongjoong,” He gasped, and his eyes returned to their blue sheen, their shape yet serpentine. “Hongjoong, I’m-”

On his feet and the palm of his hands, he crawled backwards, his chest and arms trembling. 

“It’s alright,” Hongjoong smiled, although his eyes instinctively twitched at the pain when he lifted himself. He dragged his clothes over his shoulder and pressed against the bite marks. “I’m alright. You came through. I’m glad.” But his smile became a fearful one and soon faded, seeing the shocked look in Yeosang’s face. And how he crawled away from him when he tried to approach him. “Hush now. Breathe. It’s alright.”

Although hesitant because of the blood on his hands, Yeosang made a thin canvas sash appear out of thin air, and wrapped it tightly around Hongjoong’s shoulder. He rapidly blinked the tears out of his eyes, and secure the bind with a knot. “Anything. I’ll get you anything. Anything you want. Are you bleeding? Did I make you bleed? Does it hurt?”

“Yeosang-ah.” He said, as if he ordered.

“My king.”

“…I said hush.”

Yeosang nodded erratically, shamefully looking away from the king’s eyes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Come on.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

Hongjoong laid his hand on his arm to soothe him, but at the touch, Yeosang pulled away, and quickly metamorphosed back into a fox, and ran off in the direction of what Hongjoong assumed to be the river. “Wait! You-” Hongjoong grunted, picking his sword up and rushing back to his horse, immediately clicking his tongue and ushering him to haste. He followed the fox's glowing fur, and curse words gathered underneath his tongue when Yeosang strayed from the path and through the tall trees. Hongjoong hissed in anger and followed his footsteps. As he found himself at the edge of the forest with no blue eyes to guide him out, he thought about how unpredictable Yeosang truly was, and how much he took advantage of his calm. Although their relationship was yet blooming, Hongjoong did not remember when he stopped thinking of Yeosang as a spirit. He became unusually used to the fact that he could shapeshift, levitate, and manipulate the wind and objects at will. There has not been a time when he was astonished by what he could do. Rather, he welcomed it.

Hongjoong guided his horse to the riverbanks to drink, and from there he walked along it in search for Yeosang, calling his name now and again.

He found him kneeled against the stones, his hair now tied in a top knot, splashing water over his face. “Will you run away from me again if I sit next to you?” He waited, and when he received no answer, he sat down, looking at the yet bloody tips of his fingers.

“I still cannot register what I’ve done. To him. To you.” He shook his head idly. “What have I done…”

Hongjoong ran his hand through the clear water, rinsing his hands. “At least he was useful.”

“How can you say that about a human soul?”

“Because I’m human, Yeosang, and we’re all pathetic. I don’t think of human lives as highly as you do. We live to be remembered, but one day we’ll all die miserably, and with time, so will people’s memory of us. If I died and from Heaven I saw someone eating my organs, I’d be happy knowing that at least my dead body saved someone’s life.”

“But he killed himself. Imagine how unhappy he must have been.”

“And what am I to do about it? Would you rather everyone was alive and you having to murder people yourself so you would feed on their hearts?” He asked, and Yeosang shook his head bordering on insanity. “Then be grateful you have what to feed on.”

“You’re so cold. I hate it when you’re so cold. Have you no empathy?”

Hongjoong, unfortunately, thought nothing of it. He pulled the sleeve of his overcoat over his hand, dipped it in the river, and used it to clean the blood off of Yeosang’s mouth and cheeks. His skin was glowing, and his pupils were in between elliptical and round, like waxing gibbous moons. Hongjoong held his cheek, and with his thumb, he spread the blood down the corner of his lips, then right across his lower one, jolting up when Yeosang bit him hard enough for him to pull away. “What are you doing?”

Hongjoong swallowed down all his need to kiss him, as miserable as he was.

“I know what that look in your eyes means, and I don’t like it.”

“What does it mean?” He pressed his thumb against the centre of Yeosang’s lips again, dragging it down across his lower one, and watched the water droplets mingle with the blood, like diluting paint. “Hm?”

“Stay away from me.”

A soft laugh puffed out of Hongjoong’s lips. “That’s not what it means.” He continued to wipe away at the blood, aware that he could not do anything, as when Yeosang’s eyes bordered between human and serpentine, Hongjoong’s thoughts seemed to materialise, and Yeosang already knew what he was thinking even before really thinking it.

“You wanted to tell me something inappropriate.” He said, and their eyes met. “That’s what it meant. I saw the way you swallowed. And how your shoulders lowered.”

“I myself am surprised about the things I find beautiful.”

Hongjoong took the handkerchief Yeosang passed him and continued to wipe away at the stains on his chin and jaw.

“You thought that was beautiful?”

“Yes, but in a very unorthodox way."

Yeosang shook his head, refusing to believe that the words Hongjoong uttered were real. He knew he had strange preferences in nearly everything, but he did not know if he could cope with this one.

He lied on his back while in mid-air, with both of his hands over his stomach as if he imagined himself enjoying the sunset on a beach. But that part of the forest smelled of dead bodies, salt and who knows what other substances, the air was humid, and it was cold. He allowed himself to be guided by Hongjoong.

Halfway, he felt himself feeling drowsy, his eyes were heavy, and his eyelids too heavy to lift. It was all too human for him, and his heart was too restless to care. Maybe after all those years, it was finally his turn to sleep.

As the first palace watchtower came into view, Yeosang forced himself to return to his ‘king’s confidante’ persona and perform his role properly. “I have to tell you something…before we enter.”

Hongjoong nodded, a little too cheerful. “It’s about your historian.” And just like that, it vanished. His cheerfulness and hope. “May I speak to him soon? Either of them.”

“…Why?”

“I need…I need to check his writings.”

Hongjoong waited. Yeosang recognised the look in his eyes. It was the same one as when he confessed his weaknesses.

“I fear that they have been reporting to Sungjo through what the historian wrote. This is only my assumption. I hope it’s not true.”

“Do you suspect him too?”

“No. Not yet at least. I just want to see what has become of his records. Or if there’s any evidence of them having been invaded.” He laid his hands on Hongjoong’s shoulders and faced him insistently. “Don’t let this worry you yet. I’ll see this to an end for you.”

“But how do you know all this?”

“The prisoner I interrogated earlier. He said his duty was to report everything.”

Hongjoong nodded firmly, and his shadow seemed to shift into that of the king in him. Dark, like a harbinger of death’s, and grand, like the night was his cloak.

For the rest of the night, until he went to bed, he was unresponsive, and only up for small talk when Yeosang brought him tea and attempted to soothe him. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and the next morning he left him room quicker than usual, and even began the morning assembly earlier, leaving everyone astonished.


	6. Ripples In The Deepwaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can tell you’ve never lost someone you loved. You’ve never had someone die before your eyes.”

Yeosang left him to do his kingly business, calculating his time until the assembly would finish, and went to buy more incense for San’s shrine. The air in the town felt tainted, and the wind heavy with foreign voices. Yeosang hid in the back of a secluded alley, and for the first time in what seemed like decades, he shapeshifted in his female form. As she walked the streets, her eyes were low, and her hands hidden. Her mind was clear of any looks people shot her way, as she dedicated her everything into tracing the voices. San was there, little ahead of her, and that was when she knew something indeed wasn’t right.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t walk alone. It’s very dangerous.”

In the back of her lips, she licked her fangs to check if they were as sharp as they used to be.

The man who had the nerve to address her was much older and looked like he wrapped himself in a potato sack and called it a day. He was also missing his front tooth.

Yeosang discounted him politely and moved on. When she felt the man being insistent and approaching her to grab her hand, she took her fan and swatted it against his cheek, intending to make him lose his other front tooth. However, she miscalculated her physical strength, and unfortunately sent him flying all the way into a street seller’s carriage. She appeared to be devastated, holding her long sleeve over her mouth, acting out all the mercy she’s never had. She moved on only when people started laughing at the man.

“Eunbaem?” A feminine voice said.

Yeosang startled, then breathed out slowly to maintain her composure. She shielded her face with her fan, but lowered it when she recognised the woman’s face.

It was one of Hongjoong’s maids, the one who always waited for him every morning with his robes in her arms to dress him up. Yeosang learned that her name was Sookja, and they did exchange a few words. Most of them consisted of her asking Yeosang to make sure the king doesn’t hurt himself.

“Never thought I would stumble upon you here.” Yeosang was about to ask how she recognised her, but the lady continued saying: “Your blue eyes are not difficult to miss.”

“Oh, I wish there was something I could do about it.”

“No, no, they’re very beautiful. This form of yours is as well.”

“Not at all, but thank you. Is there anything I can help you with, miss? Shall I help you carry those?” She asked, pointing at the boxes in her arms. The maid gestured for her to take two boxes, and from there, they walked alongside each other.

“Do you know what’s inside?”

Yeosang thought. “It smells faintly sweet. I would assume it’s tea cookies?”

“It is. I am taking some home. The ones you’re carrying are for the king.”

With a timid nod, Yeosang unconsciously held them tighter. “…Might these be his favourite sweets?”

“The only sweets he likes. —This way, dear.” She said, indicating the right direction with her forefinger while still holding the boxes.

Right behind the market was a street aligned with modest houses with thick, wooden doors, and small windows, and tall trees twice as big as the walls from inside their gardens.

Yeosang took all the boxes from the maid’s arms as she searched for the key to open the massive iron lock. As soon as it opened, thin and loud shrieks erupted from the other side of the door. Children’s voices singing a song about their mother being back. 

“We have guests, be polite now!” She said, even before meeting her children properly.

They were three. One older boy, and two younger little sisters, clinging to each other like chicks under a hen’s wings. Yeosang bowed her head and greeted them, then followed their mother to their kitchen, where she finally set down all the packages.

“Dearest, I hope you’re not too tired. Were they too heavy?”

“You worry about me, but you carried them by yourself before you ran into me. I say one point to us both for being stubborn.”

“Ah, our Eunbaem. As bold as always.”

She was offered a seat, where she waited patiently while the maid went to prepare the tea. The children were peeking at her by the window, running away and squeaking when she waved her hand at them.

“Eunbaem,” She called in a grave tone. Yeosang almost expected bad news. “There has been something I have been meaning to talk to you about. I have never had the chance, as we are both busy.”

She stood up, and gestured for Yeosang to follow. They went into the room in the back, where a dark, warm light was streaming from. The room was small, with an empty, wooden table in the middle of it. A plate filled with candles was sitting atop of it, and the floor was covered in carpets. On the right, towards the wall with the small window, was a young woman. She was lying down right next to the bed, reading a medical book, and immediately corrected her pose and fixed her hanbok when she noticed the new presence.

“This is my younger sister.”

“Kim Kyungsook, it’s very nice to meet you.” She bowed her head, her hands over her lap. “Is she here to…”

“Yes. Will you please leave us to talk for a moment?”

Kyungsook bowed her head and took a gentle sidestep. Behind her, sleeping on the bed, was a baby loosely wrapped in fabrics, as the room was already warm.

“We found him a few days ago. By the riverbanks. He is only a few months old. We are taking care of him for now, but I'm not sure for how long...”

“I will find him someone who wants him.” Yeosang said with no reluctance. “No child deserves this.”

“I’m thankful. I’ve heard stories about you finding foster parents for abandoned children. And I hoped they were true.”

Unready to force the past back to the surface, Yeosang nodded. She caressed the baby’s hand with the back of her finger. “They are, but I haven’t done this in a long time. But seeing them so small makes me weak.” The babe’s lips glistened gently, like dewy plum blossoms, and his head was small enough to fit within Yeosang’s palms. “How much time do I have?”

“Oh, you have enough. I know what you have been up to lately. I am in no way trying to burden you.”

“…You’re too kind.”

Lady Sookja smiled sympathetically, touching Yeosang’s arm, giving her a gentle squeeze. “And you.”

Yeosang left lady Sookja’s home with a heavy heart, and very confused about which body she was living in. She corrected her pose and looked ahead, through every pair of judging eyes. Her mind was not with her anymore, and her teeth threatened to chatter with a feeling like a shiver which she did not know where to place.

As soon as she reached the palace, she metamorphosed back. He knew seeing Hongjoong’s face would help him decide.

The gates opened for him, and he was ready to smile at the guards, if he hadn’t heard a scream of terror coming from the court. He did not recognise it as being Hongjoong’s, but it was nonetheless a reason for him to panic. He rushed over, and the crowd of men, as well as Hongjoong, turned around to meet him.

Hongjoong’s sword was unsheathed, and blood was dripping from the blade. “Stand by me, Eunbaem.” He commanded, but Yeosang found it hard to move, as if his feet had grown roots.

Within very close proximity of the king’s, there was a pyre.

Yeosang shivered.

Before Hongjoong was one of the prisoners. He was lying on the ground on his side, naked, and bleeding from his hip. As Yeosang made his way to him, he saw something at Hongjoong’s feet. Something that he could not stomach to look at.

What lied before him was a patch of skin. The skin on the man’s hip where he bore the Black Dragon symbol. The man’s mouth seemed to have been filled with a white cloth, and another thin one over his mouth and around his head to prevent him from speaking.

“Have you heard what I am to do with these?”

Yeosang shook his head, afraid of the answer. “No, Your Highness."

“I will gather them, package them nicely, have them sent to brother dearest.”

Sometimes Yeosang wished he didn’t know him so well. He was most afraid of how easily he was overcome with rage. Yeosang regretted having left his side. Although he doubted his insight would have changed anything.

He held his hands together, and the corner of his eyes caught a glimpse of the noblemen’s looks. How they seemed to beg him through his eyes. ‘Change the king’s mind’ they said.

“Next one!” Hongjoong shouted, and the next time Yeosang blinked, the man before them was gone.

He stood on the other side of the pyre, as away from the flames as possible. He needed the strength of a soldier not to cry at how the man was tossed into the fire as if he was a stack of hay.

The sight and the smell of the pyre made Yeosang’s heart clench and his knees fall powerless. He kept away from fire as dark spirits ran away from incense, and in times of loneliness, he even heard it speak. Hypnotising him and drawing him closer. The fire held repressed memories and answers to questions he hoped Hongjoong would never ask.

With the risk of humiliating himself, he took a step back to the level of Hongjoong’s shoulder, and shapeshifted into his serpentine form, with the king’s arm at ready for him to wrap around.

The next prisoner was the one Yeosang had interrogated, but the roar of the flames rung too loud in his ears, so he tucked his head underneath Hongjoong’s robe, right over his heart, for its pulse to shadow the fire’s voice. He twitched in fear each time the firewood would crackle, so much that Hongjoong had to lean a concerned hand over him to calm him.

“Stand up,” Hongjoong demanded. The man rose to his feet as graceful as an undead. Twigs lied in between his bones instead of ligaments, snapping with every inch higher. With his hands relaxed at his back, Hongjoong circled him, his eyes travelling up and down on the man’s body, his teeth chattering with rage. Beneath his clothes, Yeosang’s eyes were closed, and his mind taken back to the day they’ve met. Beautiful in all of its forms. But his energy was not enough to reach Hongjoong. “Remove your clothes. Let me see your mark.”

The prisoner hesitated, his eyes glued shut with the last bits of bravery he had in him. “No.”

“No?” Hongjoong laughed. “What’s this? Remaining loyal until death? To that rat?”

Yeosang, having enough of both of them, crawled out and wrapped himself around Hongjoong’s neck to protect him where he was most vulnerable, and to squeeze him in case he crossed the line. He hoped neither.

“He is the true king of this country.” He warned, and his palms bled from having pierced them with his nails. “I will see you kiss his feet in hell.”

Hongjoong awaited, his lips twitching into a smile. Until he didn’t. The temperature of his skin raised, his muscles tense with rage. “Hold him down.” He hissed, reaching for his sword as other armoured men came into his line of sight to grab the man. The captive took half a step back to gain momentum, then jumped forward towards Hongjoong, with fingers like claws. Yeosang snapped his eyes open, and with a hiss to release venom, he charged, aiming for the man’s neck. He sunk his fangs into the man’s jugular, growling with his human’s voice as the other began screaming. He wrapped Yeosang around his hand, and with his last breaths of sanity, he bit hard through his scales, pulling them apart with his fangs alone. Unable to bear with it, Yeosang pulled away. He was gathered up in a foreign man’s hold, and before he could blink the next time, he was tossed away into the pyre.

Without being ordered, Jongho unsheathed his sword and slit the man’s arm, and throat, before he fell to his knees.

Yeosang’s voice beat in Hongjoong’s ears, more vivid than his own pulse. His voice, asking for Hongjoong to listen to him. He untied his robe, running towards the flame to fan them away while he ordered for them to be put out, chanting Yeosang’s name in screams. As soon as the fires were quenched, and all that was left were ashes and a charred snake in the centre of the pyre, Hongjoong’s breath cut. “Yeosang,” He whispered, picking the serpent up in his arms. “Yeosang?” He held his little head in his shaken palm. “Please?” But he was unresponsive.

With a groan, he rushed to their room. He sheltered Yeosang in his arms, his breath becoming sobs. “Please, please, please, you have to shift back. Please, you need to tell me what to do. Yeosang!” He cried, watching how the once silver scales were slowly darkening, like bruises. When he twitched, Hongjoong moved away, closing his already weakened eyes from the bright light of Yeosang metamorphosing. His pale, porcelain skin, stained with plague, his scleras dark, and his eyes a stygian violet. Scales were still visible, and so were his fangs. Sweat trickled down his temples, and he hissed painfully each time his limbs would twitch. “Please tell me what to do!”

Yeosang lifted a burned hand to Hongjoong’s face. His eyes were falling closed, unlike the smile on his lips. “Leave me be.” He whispered. “I’ll be alright.”

“No. No, you won’t! Don’t do this to me! Please,” He took Yeosang’s hand into his, kissing a yet intact patch. “Please let me do this for you.”

Yeosang breathed out like the air in his lungs was smoke-thick. As he opened his mouth to respond, his eyes shot open, jerking his head to the other side and coughing out a black liquid, like ink, too thick to be blood. Hongjoong held his head up to keep him from gagging, while Yeosang’s hands were tearing at Hongjoong’s clothes. He choked out the name of a temple that Hongjoong had never heard of, but when Yeosang touched his forehead, it was as if he had placed a new memory inside his head. With a nod, Hongjoong wiped the black from around his mouth. “A shaman.”

Yeosang’s vision swam in black waters, unable to hold onto Hongjoong’s red. His eyes fell closed, his limbs weak. He found himself being wrapped in something warm, and carried outside, where a multitude of voices shouted orders and asked questions. He was carried in someone’s arms. Too big and thick to be Hongjoong’s. The smell of iron clung to his nose like he was drowning in it, making him unable to tell the person who carried him by scent. The vibration of his voice was low, and his chest was large. “Hold onto me, Your Lordship.” The voice said. Mingi’s. Yeosang nodded once. His hands touched Mingi’s waist and back, but they hung as by a strand of thread. He could distinguish two other sounds of galloping coming from his left and right, and no other than three familiar voices. Yeosang found himself falling into something much deeper than sleep, into a state that it took a lot more to pull himself out of. He held Mingi’s waist like he wanted to push himself away. His vision became bloody, his skin was smoke dark with burned scales, and what came out of his neck was an animal’s growl. “Let go,” He pulled himself away, so much that Mingi slowed down, released the rains just to hold him. “Please…Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If I let you go, the king will have my head.”

“Then,” He panted, blood drying like paint on the walls of his larynx. “Then tie my hands. I don’t-” With a sudden jab of pain on his side, where the man had bit him and pulled his skin apart, he moaned painfully, hands braced into Mingi’s robe. With his sleeve over his mouth, he coughed, staining the bright fabric a dark colour. From beyond his collar, Mingi saw stygian marks, like scratches, crawling up Yeosang’s neck and jaw, his eyes turning crimson. “Your Lordship?”

Yeosang failed to answer, leaning all of his weight on Mingi. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and one by one, his senses tore themselves from him as if burned, and floating away like cinders.

“Yeosang-ah?” Hongjoong called, worry draining into his voice. “Can you hear me?” He reached for his hand, skin dry with blood.

He could hear him, but not much more than that. He felt Hongjoong squeezing his hand. The best response he’s had to his call was a twitch of his fingers.

“How much further, Your Highness?”

“Through the forest, opposite to the river flow. From there we should be able to see the trees with ribbons and bells.”

“Have you been there before?”

“…No. Never.” He looked at Yeosang shortly, then back on the road. “But it is familiar.”

“Are you seeing things through Lord Eunbaem’s eyes, then?”

Hongjoong leaned his hand over where his liver was. “I suppose.” Then slapped the reins against the horses’ back, increasing the speed, at once with Mingi.

The forest seemed to clear them a path. When they stormed past, the ground would grow smooth, the sea of trees would part, and the sound of the river was as vocal as a human voice. Jongho was ahead the farthest, his eyes like a prey bird’s, in search for any bell’s glint or blue ribbon. While following the sound of the galloping, Hongjoong closed his eyes, going back to that place Yeosang had sent him glimpses from. “Hyungnim!” Jongho shouted, pointing to his left. “There?” Where a tree trunk was fully enveloped in red, blue, white, and yellow. Then more came into view, bearing more colours the more they approached the stairs leading to the temple. Hongjoong exhaled, as the first bell rang. He took Yeosang from Mingi’s arms, securing his arms around his shoulders, and went up the stairs, atop which there was a young boy in black robes, dark hair, with a bruise at the corner of his lips, and a mole on his cheek, sweeping away the leaves from the paved path. “I’m-” Hongjoong panted. “I’m looking for the shaman?”

The broom trembled in the boy’s hands, as he nodded. He dropped it, picked his overcoat up, and ran inside. “Master Yunho! His Highness the king is here to see you! He’s got someone injured with him!” The boy’s voice was weak, croaky, like he had been screaming his lungs out and his voice was currently healing. Inpatient, Hongjoong followed the boy inside, but was met with him at the door, followed by a much taller individual, with sleek black hair, blue robes with colourful sleeves. His right eye was dark brown, and the other was blue. “Your Highness, please, how can I-” He sounded gentle and curious, until he looked at the spirit lying in Hongjoong’s arms, when his expression became no less than disgusted. “Oh. Him again.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“…Bring him in.”

Yunho gestured to Hongjoong to set him down on an empty mattress on the corner of the room. He stepped away, letting the shaman examine him. He hesitantly pulled away the blanket that had wrapped Yeosang up, gasping at what lied beneath. “What in the name of heaven did he do?” He mumbled to himself, then he turned around to Hongjoong. “Fire?”

“Yes.”

Yunho scoffed. “How foolish.”

Slamming his fist against the door, drawing all the pairs of eyes to him, Hongjoong gnarled. The boy in black robes fell to his knees in fear. “He did it to protect me.”

The look in Yunho’s eyes softened, clenching and relaxing his fists. From inside his sleeves, he pulled a paper talisman. He held it between his fingers while chanting, then separated his fingers, as the talisman floated to above Yeosang. The talisman flared up from the corners towards the centre, absorbing the black dried liquid from Yeosang’s skin. “Pardon me, but may I ask you to look after the boy while I take care of this one?”

Hongjoong eyed both of them. “You can’t expect me to sit here and wait.”

“I’m about to perform an exorcism. I don’t want humans nowhere near us.”

Not wanting to admit the defeat, Hongjoong sat down at the table, his fist clenched. Yunho picked Yeosang up in his arms, much gentler than the way he had looked at him earlier, and went in the back, and from there, down on a set of stone stairs. A thick, wooden door, slammed behind them. Hongjoong stared, with all of his senses directed towards that door, having completely forgotten about anything or anyone else. From behind him, Mingi squeezed his shoulder. He was concentrated on the silence, on how far his hearing could take him. He heard faint sounds of what seemed to be bells, or chains. A series of soft chinks. The boy with black robes returned to the main room with three teacups and a teapot. He served them wordlessly, looking everyone in the eyes, but Hongjoong. Seeing how much his hands were shaking to pour the tea, Jongho reassured him, and offered to do it for him. “H-He will…chain him up…And then he will cover him in seals…While chanting…and pour water over him…and force him to drink water too…And he will be violent if he has to as well.” He paused. “That is what Master Yunho did to me too…So, I know.”

“Was there a dark entity in you?”

“It was…me. I’ve lost control.”

Hongjoong studied him. He looked as human as he did, but his eyes were starting to brighten. “What’s your name, child?”

“…Jung Wooyoung, Your Highness.” 

“And you’re a spirit too.”

“Not yet…I died a month ago. But I suppose I am not human anymore either. Master Yunho took me in. I am still recovering.”

Hongjoong nodded, inhaling the scent of the tea. He took the cup in his hand, inbreathing fully, but as soon as the lip of the cup reached his mouth, a scream erupted from downstairs, where Yunho had taken Yeosang. Wooyoung’s shoulders trembled. The scream was demonic, but painful, wet with blood, and angry, joined by the sounds of chains ringing. The scream stopped abruptly, with the sound of a loud slap, but continued in the form of low growls. “…What is he doing,” Hongjoong whispered.

Wooyoung’s eyes were closed. “Dark spirits will try and communicate with you, and persuade you. I believe this is what happened. Master Yunho hurt him to provoke him.”

“…Why would he provoke him?”

“Because then he will force water down his throat, and have him gag, and with that and spit it back out, along with the words. Master Yunho is very powerful, Your Majesty. He is only half human. Have faith.”

He did because he had no choice. He would have done it himself if he knew how. This Yunho person had not made a good impression on him, but he wanted to leave the interrogation for much later, after leaving room for words of gratitude. He heard Yunho’s chants resonating as clear as glass, although quiet, sounds of water splashing against stone. At times like those, Hongjoong didn’t pray, like his mother would have liked him to do. Instead, he summoned the thought of her, like she was a spirit herself. He called upon her name, and asked her to keep Yeosang safe. She was a prayer with a face and a presence.

“Thank you…Wooyoung-ah.”

“No need. But if I may…What is that spirit’s name?”

Hongjoong drank his tea in two big sips, politely telling Wooyoung not to when he wanted to refill his cup. His stomach was not in its right place. “Eunbaem.”

“… _The_ Eunbaem?”

“Yes.”

“I…I used to pray to him. But then the shrine that was built for him disappeared.”

“When did this happen?”

“Years ago. I was much younger. But people said he was real. With a real, human body, I mean. I know people who tried to climb the mountain after having heard that he grants wishes if brought offerings there.”

“Aren’t people banished if they reach the mountaintop?”

“Yes. They said they saw pairs of eyes following them, and a creature with a body of a bird and a man’s head. I believe it to be true. Blue lights have also been spotted on the mountain.”

“Have you ever heard about a book, or a collection of tales about Eunbaem?"

“No, but I’m sure there must be. People like Master Yunho have been documenting him.”

Yunho barged out the door with a white cloth against his bleeding cheek. “Bring me the ointments and holy water.” He told Wooyoung, as he dropped down at the table, silently panting through his nose. He wiped his cheek one more time before throwing the fabric away, revealing four perfectly aligned scratch marks dangerously close to his eye.

“…He did that?” Hongjoong asked.

Nodding his head once, Yunho scooped out ointment with a wooden spoon, mixing it with dried herbs he held inside a canvas pouch. “I knew Eunbaem was a violent one.” He took a new cloth Wooyoung brought him, and cleansed his cheek with it. They watched smoke rise from in between the scratches, sizzling softly. While waiting for that to cool down, he folded the cloth, dipped it in holy water, and cleansed it again.

“I want to see him.”

“Let him rest. Go back to the palace, I won’t hurt him.”

“I’m not leaving without him.”

“What could your relationship with him be that you cannot stay separated?” Hongjoong remained quiet. For that moment, that was his best response. “He cried.” The shaman said. Hongjoong looked back at him. “He cried, and he called you his king.” His expression seemed to have softened more than before.

“Do we have a problem with that, shaman?”

“None at all. I just know that, if you choose to be with him that way, you know nothing about him.”

“His Lordship Eunbaem has been treating everyone kindly at the palace. And he was an active helper with the affairs there too.”

“Then I’m free to assume that this is all part of him trying to redeem himself…In which case, I'm impressed.” He opened the teapot and drank straight from there, pouring everything into his mouth like a waterfall. He slammed the teapot back down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But what has he done?”

Yunho smirked, turning a little to the side to rearrange the cord from around Wooyoung’s waist. He was careful while doing it, peeking at him and moving his hands slow not to startle him. “Let’s just say that if Eunbaem was human, he would be a wanted criminal.” A shiver crept up Hongjoong’s side, in circles, like the swirl-shaped mark he bore there. “But then again who am I to be the apple of discord between you two. If he wants to tell you, he will.”

Hongjoong stood up abruptly. “I need to see him.”

Yunho shrugged, caressing Wooyoung’s shoulder when he saw his eyes wide open in fear. “Just be quiet.”

With a nod, Hongjoong headed towards the heavy door, pushing the rusted, iron bar, to open it. There was no floor beyond the door, just a flight of wooden stairs, creaky and weak, slightly bending against Hongjoong’s weight. Ahead, there was a cave, illuminated blue by glowworms, with a little opening to the right, where a set of chains hung by the wall, and blood was splattered on the dark floor. Hongjoong rushed forward, to the cave itself. A mattress sat to his right, and to his left was a quiet lake, before which sat a young lady; small, blue flames levitated around her.

Her hair was loose and long, the ends brushing the stone floor, and atop of her head arose a pair of white, silky fox ears, each decorated with three, flower-shaped earrings. A red dot lied in between her thin eyebrows and at the outer corners of her eyes, and three, white, horizontal lines, like whiskers, on her cheeks. She held one knee to her chest, and her other leg was dipped into the clear water up to her ankle. Wrapped around her were the same robes as she wore in her other form, but fell loose around her figure.

Hongjoong blinked several times. “Yeosang?”

She nodded. “Your Highness.” Although she acknowledged him, she spoke as if she was a stranger.

Heat flooded Hongjoong’s cheeks. He had suddenly forgotten how to initiate the walking process. “You’re a lady.”

She adjusted the colour of her robe, and swept all of her hair to one side. “Yes. My other form has suffered quite the damage. I’ll stay in this one for now until my other body recovers.”

With a nod, Hongjoong crossed his hands at his back, and took slow steps towards her. He sat down further away than he would have if she was in her male form. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

Hongjoong nodded, then looked somewhere around the cave. “Oh, I see. You become timid in the presence of women.” Hongjoong shook his head. “Do you not like this form?”

The king scratched his cheek like he wanted to remove the heat, and cleared his throat. “I do, I just-” He stopped, feeling something warm and fluffy brush past his hand. He withdrew it, his brain cloudy with the sequence of new images. “That’s a tail. You have a tail.”

Yeosang nodded, bringing her tail to her lap, caressing it like it wasn’t hers. “I do. It keeps me warm.”

Hongjoong raised his eyes back up to her fox ears. Then he tentatively lifted his hand to touch them, but then Yeosang tipped her head back. "Please don't." She said, her eyes flaring as a response to threats, but she smiled.

"Sorry." And even sorrier he was when he noticed her needle-sharp claws. "We should take you back. Master Yunho said you need rest."

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “But, Your Highness, before we go…I felt another presence here. Another spirit. And it wasn’t Master Yunho.”

“There is. Upstairs. A young boy who said he died recently.”

Yeosang’s eyes were wide open. She took her hand back, wrapped herself in her robes, and stood back on her feet, already dashing towards the stairs. “Yeosang-ah!” Hongjoong caught her wrist. “Wait, wh-”

“Yeori.”

“Huh?”

“…This form’s name…is Yeori.”

Upon hearing the same threatening tone, although her words were gentle, Hongjoong released her. "Are you," He attempted, searching the vixen's face one more time. "Are you sure this is the same _you_?"

"It is. But it isn't. There is an entire tale behind this form. All you need to know is that you can trust me. And that I would never hurt you."

“…Yeori,” Hongjoong pronounced it as if it was a one-word that turned blizzards into cherry blossom showers, and brought stars to daylight. “…Alright." He nodded, slanting his eyes downwards. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll tell me everything, won’t you? Why you’ve gone through this, and why that happened…You won’t keep me in the dark, right?”

Yeori nodded. She had time to filter what was right to say and what wasn’t. “I will tell you.”

Hongjoong wished he could trust this voice more than the other.

The four pairs of eyes watched her approach like a goddess descending to earth. Wooyoung hid behind Yunho’s big frame, Mingi braced himself, and Jongho almost swallowed his tongue. “…Y-Your Lordship?”

“Yes, pup. This is my other body. There’s nothing to fear.” In passing, she touched Jongho’s hair. 

“How are you feeling, mountain spirit?”

“Much better. Thank you, Blessed.”

“You did well to shapeshift. You would still be bedridden if it wasn’t for this second body.”

“Very true. I’m grateful for the ritual. And forgive me for being difficult.”

“No need.” Yunho paused. “But I know how you can repay me.” Yeori somehow already knew what he wanted to say, but she still straightened her back, with her hands folded on her lap, and listened. “I need you to name this spirit.” He pointed to the boy behind him. Yeori smiled. She was right.

She and Wooyoung sat opposite to each other at the smaller tea table next to the door leading to the garden. Between them, on the table, were empty talismans, and an empty sheet of rice paper. A silver paintbrush came into being within Yeori’s palm. “I will ask you a series of questions. Some might make you feel uncomfortable. Some might bring you back to dark places. But you have to remember that I am on your side, and in no way do I intend to hurt you.” She spoke clearly, although her statements were only half true. She had agreed to name him half out of kindness, half out of intents more selfish. “You are a spirit now. Your mind needs to be crystal. You have become a spirit because you are good of heart, and that is something that needs to carry through many years to come.”

Wooyoung nodded obediently. “And what happens if it doesn’t?”

“If you cause harm to people because of your lack of control, then I-- Eunbaem, as the one who named you, am given the spiritual right to murder you and revert you to your human body.” Wooyoung froze. “But you needn’t worry about this now. I heard you died recently?”

“…A month ago.”

“Oh. That is…so soon. How many days is that?”

“Around thirty.”

“Still. You are looking exceptionally well. How did it happen?”

Wooyoung whimpered. The tips of his fingers were bruised, and his cuticles were outlined in red. He was missing nails from three of his fingers, and those have been wrapped up. “I have to ask because it tells me about the kind of spirit you will be.” Wooyoung didn’t seem to be able to answer. Yeori sighed. “…I was murdered.” She said. Wooyoung met her eyes. Already merciful and teary. “And this is why there are times when I need to feed on people.”

“…Real people?”

“Dead people. But if you died by natural causes, then there will be no need for you to do that. It doesn’t seem like you were murdered. I think it was of natural causes…If I was to guess, I’d say you fell from somewhere and you drowned. Or someone pushed you.” Reluctantly, Wooyoung nodded. “Has this person intended to murder you?” He shrugged his shoulders. “…I see.”

“…Do I have to eat people?”

“No. It’s not the intention that matters, but the element which cuts your last breath. In your case, it was the water. Therefore,” She picked the calligraphy brush up, and as the wrote down, she said “You shall be a sea spirit.” She took her first empty talisman. “And now, I have to name you.”

“A new name?”

“Your spirit name. You don’t have to forget about your human name, but if you are to gain worshippers and followers, you must never use your human name. Your spiritual name will go hand in hand with a list of your titles. The older you become, and the more you will accomplish, you will gain more titles. For now, I will bestow two titles on you. These titles will give you the powers you need. Should you ever abuse of these titles-”

“You are given the spiritual right to murder me and revert me to my human body.”

“Correct.” She lifted the brush gently, between her fore and middle finger, holding it above the centre of the paper. “Your name, from this moment onward,” She exhaled, calling upon the sea spirits’ energies to guide her fingers. The air around her became thick, her lungs flooded with salt. Beyond her eyelids, she saw specks of yellow rising from the sea bottom. The sand becoming dust of gold, and travelling back to the surface of the water, and over. “Will be Geummae.” She recited, as the characters for  金 gold and  鹰 hawk wrote themselves on the paper seal. She held her other hand above the talisman, slowly opening her eyes to watch the paper dissipate into golden sand, and the characters of the name floating towards Wooyoung’s chest. The next time he opened his eyes, they were yellow, and glowing like rising suns. “As for your titles,” Yeori shut her eyes again, moulding the silence in the room into the spirits’ voices. “‘Whisperer of Waves’,” The spirits sang in her ears, and she smiled. “And ‘Tidecharmer’.” The words drifted from the paper, in slow waves, guided by the breath they exhaled, until they gently landed in Wooyoung’s palms, and faded.

“Thank you. I’ll do my utmost. I will make you proud.”

“You have to make _yourself_ proud. Not me. Find something or someone you want to protect, and make a name for yourself.”

“I doubt I will be able to do anything with the way I am now.”

“You don’t have to worry about your natural response to things. This is a new world to you, you see everything differently now. You are a different entity. Do not pressure yourself just because you frighten easily. I was the same as you. I cried so much, and I wanted to do vile things to myself. I heard new sounds and saw things I could not see as a human. But you and your body will get used to it. Your body, by itself, will also learn to practice inedia.”

“What’s that?”

“It means your body will learn to sustain itself on energy instead of food and water. Nothing will happen if you eat or drink, but you will not need them anymore. Meditation and sunlight will be enough to keep you nourished. And little by little, you will not feel the need to sleep anymore. But there will be times when you will feel weary.” She threw the brush in the air, watching it vanish. “That was five lessons in one.” While Geummae registered the new wave of information, and contemplated his new level of existence, Yeori took several of the empty talismans and slipped them into her sleeve.

“Thank you…Eunbaem. Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Yes. Meditate. And be kind. And consider everything I said to you.”

“I will.”

She smiled, then looked towards Hongjoong, whose eyebrows were arched, impressed and proud. With a bow before both the other spirit and the shaman, she stood up, flattening her robe’s skirt. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Master. I will continue to redeem myself until you will have fully forgiven me.”

Yunho scoffed. “Maybe it is time you move on from that.”

“If I move on from what I had done, you would have served some fine wine watching me die slowly. This is the right path for me.”

“Very well, then.” He stood up, steps away from her. “You are a quarter forgiven.”

“I haven’t quite told you, but my brother longs for you.” Judging by how Yunho’s countenance shifted, she seemed to have rightfully aimed her arrow. His shoulders had softened, his chest heaving with nostalgic breaths.

He and San had once been the closest to what people called lovers. The second half of each other’s soul. There were stories about how Yunho was the one who had built several of San’s shrines, and San was the one who shielded Yunho’s temple. Only they knew what had happened in the past a hundred years. Yunho smiled promisingly. “I will prepare offerings.”

Yeori closed her eyes, bowing her head gratefully.

The four of them were guided outside, exchanging words of thankfulness instead of goodbyes. Yeori sat back, too stunned at how brightly Yunho smiled at her for the first time in decades. Her path to redemption had been longer than that, but that was the biggest sign that her efforts had been considered.

Her eyes had never left the temple until engulfed by the forest. She decided to remain silent for almost the entire way, levitating like a stray cloud while Hongjoong rode alone.

To Hongjoong, when Yeosang —and all of his other forms, were quiet and expressionless, all the good in the world fell silent as well, and the world lost its sound and colours. Even in anger or nightmare, Hongjoong wanted and needed to hear them all.

Before exiting the forest, they stopped by the riverbanks to allow the horses to drink. Three of them joined, splashing freezing water onto their and each other’s faces, sending each other to hell and back, and laughing. Until Hongjoong noticed Yeori sitting by herself underneath a willow tree, making bows out of her hair, with her knees to her chest, and her feet facing inwards. In that warm skylight, artists wished they had painted her. Wringing out the water from the hems of his robes, Hongjoong approached her. Her fingers were long and slender, pink at the knuckles, and her claws seemed to have the same sheen as marble. Hongjoong was more interested in finding a physical flaw on her. Or in Yeosang too. Was he in love with a woman with the soul of a man? Or a man with the soul of a woman? Or the same soul, no matter the form? He wished he knew.

“Everything feels different now,” She said after too long for Hongjoong’s wellbeing. His breath had almost cut at its source from how happy he was knowing she was doing well. "Through my eyes, I mean."

"What was the world like before?"

She smiled, untying the hair bow, and made a simple knot, watching it untangle. “Too much...dark matter. Even the water sparkles brighter now. It feels nice. Rituals like those help a lot."

"I see. It must have hurt a lot."

"It hurt the dark entity more than it hurt me, so I care not." Her eyes felt yet too heavy for her to lift higher than the ground.

“About that...May I ask you something?” Hongjoong queried. She looked even lower. She was expecting that, and she did not want it. “Is it just my impression, or were you truly in a rush to leave?” Her core temperature changed to warmer, her chest was not as tight.

“A little. I felt a presence there I did not want to be around. I feel weak, as I am still recovering. I would have put all of my forms in danger.”

“I understand. You did well, then.” He was fascinated at how much her hair resembled bronze thread, or even golden one, if the sun was blinding enough. “I wanted to ask you about your redemption…But I thought it might be difficult for you to talk about it.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’ve done bad things. Hundreds of years ago. I wronged so many people. I insulted them. One of these people is Master Yunho…And for the longest time, I have tried to atone for what I’ve done…But there are some things you need to pay for lifetimes after. I don’t mind. As long as it clears my name. I need my titles now more than ever.” She held her chin on her knees and hugged her legs. “But what I fear the most is that it was me who caused San hyungnim and Yunho and their other lover to distance from each other. Neither of them blamed me, but I’ve always felt this. I’ve always felt like the majority of the blame was mine…Anything else, I can pay for, but this…this is what I would put myself on the line for.” She wrapped the end of her tail around her ankle, as a form of self-soothing.

“Did you not agree with their relationship?”

“I did. I loved them together. But I was still new in this life. I’ve fallen into depravity so deeply, that San had to protect Yunho from me.”

“I find it impossible to think of you as anyhow else than the way you are now. If it ever comes to it, I would testify for you."

Yeori smiled. She wondered.

*

Hongjoong sheltered the silver viper within his coat while swimming through the throng of officers and palace officials raining over him with concerns and questions and much more. He heard none of them, besides that one same old voice calling him reckless. He cuddled the snake closer to his heart to prove himself right. He appointed Mingi to lock the captives back up until further instructions. The serpent trembled like a newborn in Hongjoong’s arms, burrowing his little head under his sleeve, where he felt warm. He coiled up in the centre of the mattress, rubbing his cheek against the furry quilt. Hongjoong’s heart swelled. He poured him water in a teacup, and lifted his head to help him drink. The snake’s eyes were still closed, but chipped open when he felt his nose wet. “Just a bit?” Hongjoong asked, giddy at how Eunbaem flicked his tongue over the surface of the water. He was always shocked at how much he loved that form of Yeosang’s. “I’ll give you some time alone.” He whispered, kissing the viper’s forehead. When the room was most silent, he could hear him breathe.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, he leaned his back against the wall, slapped his hands over his eyes, and exhaled. He hated himself most when he feared. He went back to court, and for the first time in years, he walked right into Mingi's arms, tired and seeking comfort.

Back in his bedroom, Yeosang shifted back intending to rebind the bandages around his waist, but almost fell unconscious with the sudden gush of pain as soon as he did the bare minimum. He bit the side of his hand so he won’t scream, or even grunt, called upon his brother’s name as an alternative to cursing, and in the end, he switched bodies back. 

Yeori looked towards the door for any moving shadows, and when she deemed the corridors clear of human presence, she shifted her position, facing the ceiling. Both her bodies required rest, but her mind was crowded with the events of that day. The image of the baby sleeping, the fire, and everything that happened at the temple. The voice that had spoken to Yunho during the ritual was one she had heard before. One that had allowed horrid thoughts to resurface.

Behind her eyelids lied the months of winter yet to come.

After a while, she clothed herself and snuck outside through the window, jumping on the roof of the next building, her tail swaying from side to side while her eyes searched the grounds for a redhead. He was alone, by the pavilion, with no source of light around him. She stood up, smiling, her tail wrapped around her thigh. With her hands cupped under her chin, she blew softly, igniting a blue flame in her palms, then she watched it drift away, and down, towards Hongjoong. She smiled wider when she saw him smiling too, grinning to reveal her fangs when he was looking around him. With white, snowy leaves under her feet to keep her afloat, she descended to him.

“Your Highness,” She said, voice like exotic flowers. “May I have a word with you?”

“I thought you were resting.”

Yeori smiled, wrapped her cloak around her. She walked over in slow steps, maintaining a respectful distance between the two, one which Hongjoong did not bother to fill. She was as understanding as she could, but she wished Hongjoong would see through appearances. “I tried. I didn’t like the things I saw when I closed my eyes.”

Hongjoong nodded. After relaxing his fist behind his back, he reached for her hand. “What did you see?” 

“Well,” She sighed. “A lot has happened today.”

“…It really has. Whatever you need, I’ll provide it for you.”

“Thank you.” She inbreathed. “I was right a while back. There truly was a dark cloud above you. And it came from Geummae."

“How so?”

“Because he is frightened. And when spirits give in, they become something much darker. Their thoughts materialise sometimes into other entities, and they travel through the air like pathogens, and inside the human system in such foul forms. And you were vulnerable. When people are vulnerable, they attract these entities. I see them. They’re ugly.”

“…Are they here with us now?”

“Not anymore.”

“How come?”

Yeori folded her arms over her chest. The walls of her mouth tasted like iron, and the indents of chains reappeared on her throat and arms. The pink under Yeosang’s claws were remains of Yunho’s blood after louring at him. What the shaman had done after that was to anoint a knife and stab it right through Yeosang’s diaphragm. Unable to sustain the blood loss, he shifted.

“Yeori-ah,” Hongjoong went on, seeming to have understood the silence. “You didn’t seal that entity within you, right?”

“We can take it. You, humans, not so much. I’m alright now. The air is breathable again.”

“There were demons around us? Real ones?”

“Humans get possessed by demons. Spirits get possessed by their own or someone’s else’s repressed self. We prefer to call them hellions. But if you wish to call them demons, you may…I had one in me for about fifty years now. He was almost cleansed, but this second one joined in, and I could not take it. When they are together, they are enhanced by fire. Master Yunho was smart to ask me to name him right there and then. Have you noticed the rainbow ribbons on the trees? The bells, and the talismans on the doors? They are to protect the temple because it had become a foster home to dark spirits because of Geummae. Naming a spirit makes them aware of who they are and what they must do. It forces them to understand the good around them, and the power they are given. But because I am still sceptical…I only bestowed two titles on him instead of three.”

“What was the third one?”

“…They were ‘Whisperer of Waves’, ‘Tidecharmer’, and ‘Bringer of Billows’. But that last one would have made him too powerful for how small he still is, and in his current condition, he is much more predisposed to abuse of it…And we don’t want that.”

“What would happen if he did? Would you really kill him?” 

“…That is the last thing I have ever wanted to do…to anyone. But yes, if worse comes to worst, I will have to. Would be tricky, though…The only way to kill a spirit and revert them is to kill them the exact same way they died the first time.”

“You said he died in the sea. Someone pushed him.”

“Yes. When I named him, I saw rocky cliff, and tumultuous waters beneath. It was dark. No people in sight.” She soughed, and went to sit by the edge of the pond. She lifted her robe up to little below her knees, balancing her feet in the air. It was small gestures like those that made Hongjoong feel at peace about who was next to him. “…I hope I made the right decision. I need San hyungnim's counsel.”

“I’m sure you did, knowing you. You would never make rash decisions.” The king joined her, sitting next to her with only one knee down. “…You said you had something to tell me. Forgive me for diverging the subject so.”

“It’s alright. I promised to tell you.”

“What was it that you wanted to say?” 

Nervously, she smiled, eyes on the unbloomed waterlilies. “I feel nervous.”

“To speak with me?”

“…To speak with you about this matter, yes.” 

Hongjoong's calm was light dappling among shadows— warm in its nature, but not heavy enough to last. “…Maybe tomorrow.”

“No. Please tell me.”

“Don’t enrage your brother.” She said with no hesitation, her voice was austere. Her eyes were lifted at the moon, high and regretless.

“Pardon me?” He asked, in the same tone Yeori had predicted.

“You heard me.”

Hongjoong smirked. If he was a god, his eyes would be aflame. “Why so suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden. I waited for the right moment. But after what I saw today, I- I felt like I should say something.”

“And this is what you decided to say. Not to enrage him. Me. After all he’s done.”

“I understand, but we can cleanse the palace and overcome this peacefully. He won’t have any other ways to hurt you once his people are gone.”

“He will find ways. He seeks to end my bloodline. I, on the other hand, seek to end _him_.”

“This is exactly what I wanted us to talk about. Your Highness, listen to me-”

“No. Not this. You, out of all people, I expect to understand me.”

“I do! I told you, I do understand! But please, think about what your people want!”

“Are you sure this is not what _you_ want?”

“I don’t want it. But I am not the only one. Not one second of my life goes by in which I don’t think about what is right for your cause. I want all the good in the world for you, but please. I beg. Think about this. There are other options…You are so much more reflective and wiser than this.” 

“I can tell you’ve never lost someone you loved. You’ve never had someone die before your eyes.”

Yeori staggered back, her arms overtaken by tremors; unbelieving and her eyes swimming in hatred. Hongjoong was as still as a pillar, his eyebrows heavy with anger, his eyes ember. The corners of his mouth twitched like cage bars when lions wanted to escape. Each part of his face expressed something else, but they all bore the same amount of regret. His eyes, his jaw. They wanted to apologise. But he was king. He was rage and fire and divine over the country.

He held the present in his hands like he held his sword. He was wealthy in days and hours. So much, that he blindingly spent them on things he didn’t need. So much, that he spent others’ like he spent his.

He knew nothing.

Yeori stepped away from him, to as far as she needed for the air to feel breathable again. Her chest was not as light as a moment ago, and the stench of blood infiltrated through her every pore.

Hongjoong lowered his head with guilt, but never enough to atone for it. His braced fists held him at bay.

“You’re wrong. You’re so horribly wrong. You know nothing…You know nothing about me!” She shouted achingly, her eyes cold and disbelieving. She hissed like a cornered animal when Hongjoong took a step forward towards her, and in the after-reaction of a flurry of snowflakes and silver plumes, she disappeared.


	7. Sing While We Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When the eighth said star dropped right over Yeosang’s nose, he parted his lips to speak, but what he wished for was not a wish in itself, but a poem. His wish would take years to write and moons to recite. He wished for tired mornings, birthdays and festivals, dark eyes, and hands smelling like earth and rosehip."

The night before, Hongjoong had squeezed himself to one side of the bed, out of habit, and when, still during his sleep, he noticed he had too much room to toss and turn, he woke up. The mattress was cold, and so was his right side. He closed his eyes back and allowed the crickets to lull him to sleep before his heart would start to ache.

He liked how Yeosang never slept, but only lied beside him and cuddled him in ways that he didn’t think he would enjoy. Or sometimes he would use his chest as a pillow until his neck would start to hurt. He wished he had woken up with that kind of soreness.

While he was being dressed by his maids, he stared out the window, at the corner of the roof, distracted by every bird that flew across the sky. He had not taken his sword with him. And every soul in that court, separately, had to ask about it. He dismissed everyone and continued with the morning assembly. He had also ordered to have the skin patches he had cut the other day preserved, but stopped them from being sent. To fully consume his rage for the next days, he raised his chin again and sent men to have all of the remaining skin carved seals gathered and kept with the others. But his heart did not feel any less heavy. While the court officials spoke, he thought of deeds. Good deeds. Things he could do to bring his mountain spirit back. He had already despised himself for not obeying his own heart.

That day went slow in all of its tediousness. It was shorter than the others. So much, that by the end of all of his errands and duties, he was not tired. He tied his hair back and sunk his face into hot water, having had enough of it all, then he changed into his nightwear although it was barely evening, and began preparing his lessons for the next morning. He picked up his ‘The Doctrine of the Mean’ volumes, blank sheets of paper, his brush and ink stick, and began. His airways felt sweet and ticklish with every intake of breath, and the smell of incense.

One page in— his mind was in its right place. His hand was still, his writing pellucid, like every character he wrote was a centrepiece in itself. His stokes were precise, yet elegant, like a poet’s. He read verses at a time and transcribed then faithfully, and he would sometimes stop to annotate. Confucian metaphysics was something the late king knew better than his own child’s name. Hongjoong was not like that.

Three pages in— his vision became a blur, feeling the need to rub his eyes once every sentence. He set the brush down, closed his eyes, untied his hair, and gently massaged his scalp with his nails. That was what he called a break. Then he began right off. 

“In the way of the superior man there are four things, to not one of which have I as yet attained…” He read out loud, slowly, careful with each word’s rhythm. “To serve my father, as I would require my son to serve me: to this I have not attained…” He smiled to himself. Anything was better than revealing a pained heart. “To serve my prince as I would require my minister to serve me: to this I have not attained; to serve my elder brother as I would require my younger brother to serve me: to this I have not attained…” He raised his eyes, looking nowhere in particular. Images he did not want to see appeared in between the white of the page. “To set the example in behaving to a friend, as I would require him to behave to me: to this I have not attained.” He read like there was another pair of ears listening to him. Displeased —disappointed, rather, in himself, he closed the volume, and pushed all of his papers to the edge of the table, and his last paper by the window for the ink to dry. “…Indeed, I have not.” He murmured, eyes shut, back against the folding screen. 

“You haven’t what?” Yeosang asked, his feet weightlessly came to rest on the floor.

Hongjoong consumed his presence. He never knew how starved his heart had been until then. His cheeks grew pink with shame at the memory of their argument the day before. Out of love, he thought it was better to hold his tongue. A quiet Yeosang was better than an upset one. Hongjoong felt somehow lucky that it was Yeori who hissed at him, otherwise, he would have cut his own tongue as an excuse to never speak again.

But the only issue with that, however, was the subject of their argument. If it was about anything else, he would have trivialised it.

“Are you here to take back what you said to me yesterday?” Hongjoong managed, wiping off the excess ink from his fingers.

Yeosang sat down across from him. In his hand he held a small, red box filled with tea cookies. Hongjoong did not remember ever telling him he loved those. “No. I came here to reconcile. But you are still as unapproachable and apprehensive.”

The king lifted his eyes and gave Yeosang a sharp look. “You insulted me.”

Yeosang scoffed like he did when he was entertained rather than when he found something absurd, leaning his elbows over the table. “With kindly asking you to consider my suggestion? Are you that sensitive? —And what about when _you_ insulted _me_? Of course your pride won’t allow you to bring that up. Of course it’s always about _you_ being insulted.”

In a matter of a blink, Hongjoong went back to every single time in the past when he and Yeosang talked. He had always had the impression that Yeosang had a tactic for when Hongjoong was acing up. He just didn’t know how to name it.

Or maybe it was nothing at all, and Hongjoong’s capital fear of having his mistakes pointed out was forcing him into behaving. “I did what you told me.” He said like the voice wasn’t his. He said it like his heart and brain and pride never consented for it. He spat, rather.

“Oh, love, your hateful tone says it all. Is that your way of reconciling with me?”

“What more do you want?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s a matter of how I deserve to be treated by you. You may slip sometimes, and that’s alright, but this…what’s happening now…is hateful. I don’t get any kind of pleasure when you obey me or listen to me, but in the rare times I tell you— no, I beg you to listen to me, I say it only for the sake of _your_ wellbeing, and not very often, mine. And when I’ve been nothing but good to you, I’m not quite happy with the way you talk to me.” He paused, and he saw the way Hongjoong was unable to rip his eyes away from him. And how much he hated himself for it. “Is it because _you’re_ unhappy, perhaps?”

“Unhappy?”

“With me.”

“No. No, I never was. But maybe things could be a little better…Are you unhappy?” Hongjoong asked like he was afraid to know.

“I am not unhappy with you. But there are times when seeing you doesn’t being me joy…Like now.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched in his throat. “Then why are you here?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to leave either. I’m here because I thought it’s best if we talked. Because if we don’t, we’ll get angry. And it’s very bad for me if I get angry.” 

“I know. You told me.”

“Then stop pressing it.”

Hongjoong’s tongue fell numb, and the only reason why it did was because it was Yeosang. If it was anyone else, they would have already had their teeth pulled out. Not that Hongjoong was very fond of how his mind and body responded to Yeosang’s scolding, but it was only on these occasions when he could sit down and reflect on his actions. “I’m sorry for what I said to you yesterday.” 

“It’s alright.” Yeosang smiled. “You said things could be a little better. Do you have any complaints after all?”

“No.”

“You can tell me.”

“Are we fixing the problem between us now?”

“…All I know is that we both brought each other into this. I know so much about your life, and you’ve learned a significant amount of things about the spirit world…that we must fix whichever problem we have between us too. If we want our plans to work… _we_ must work as well.”

“Even though looking at me doesn’t bring you joy anymore?”

“I said it doesn’t bring me joy _now_. Not that it never will. I like it better when we talk calmly. Makes me want to listen to you. So tell me, what has been bothering you?”

“Just…I always come to you with my hardships. You’ve seen me weak so many times. You’re the only one I confide in with everything. You’ve never come to me.”

“You have to deal with the hardships of so many people. You don’t need mine too.”

“But what kind of lover would I be if I listened to others, and not you? You tell me not to make you angry anymore, but when I want to learn more about you, you lift this barrier between you and I. You left so many of my questions unanswered.”

Yeosang sighed and placed his palms on the table, parallel to each other. “Alright then. You may ask me one question, and I will answer it.”

Hongjoong’s eyes were on Yeosang’s hands. “Any question?” And he watched as they clenched into fists, much like he predicted.

“Yes.”

“One question is not enough.”

“It’s one or none at all.”

Hongjoong grimaced, and looked downcast, at the dragon glowing yellow on the skirt of his coat. He remembered all the unanswered questions Yeosang left him with, and he remembered them in order as well. There was too much he wanted to know, from his past with other men and possible women, to his life as a spirit, to basic questions such as who he really was.

“Why are there questions you avoid answering, or you answer by running away?”

Yeosang comprehended the question with a nod, and leaned his hands onto his lap. He sat as he did during meetings. Hongjoong didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Because there are things I either refuse to talk about, things I don’t feel comfortable talking about, or things I was forbad to talk about.”

Hongjoong paused. His rage was as unstable as the far sea. “What happens if I’m unsatisfied with that answer?”

“…I know you are. I don’t know what else to say to you. That is the truth.”

The smoke of the incense sticks wafted around them, like the barrier Hongjoong mentioned earlier. He took in a deep breath of air while leaning back against the folding screen, only to lean forward again, hand against the table, and his fingers linked together.

“Then about why you gave me your powers. Why did you choose me? I asked you why I was worthy, but you didn’t answer.”

“I felt that this question has been eating at the walls of your mind for a while now. But this is not the right time to answer you. I will, however, soon. Trust me.”

“Why is it not the right time?”

Yeosang gave him a pained look, as if he had stepped in glass. He looked away from Hongjoong. “Because I feel like that will be a long…very long discussion. When I will answer every single of your questions, I want us to be away from here. I want us to be alone and walk along an empty beach. I want this all to be over, so we could feel more relieved…That’s it.”

Hongjoong nodded. “…Alright.”

“I’m-” He paused, clutching his eyes shut, and holding his hand over his stomach. Through his teeth, he moaned in pain.

Hongjoong’s shoulders tensed, standing up from his seat. “Are you alright? Is it the wound?”

“It is.” He panted. “It’s acting up again.”

“The bite…or the…um, you know, where you got stabbed.”

“Where I got stabbed. And now they both hurt.” Yeosang said in the most dramatic way Hongjoong’s ever heard him. When their eyes met, they smiled and giggled, until Yeosang hissed at the sudden wave of pain. “…Might need to get this healed.”

Hongjoong nodded diffidently. “Kiss me before you go?”

But the question had not reached the other. 

*

As Yeosang flew in the direction of Hongjoong’s bedchamber, he noticed a speck of red sitting over the wooden fence of the grounds he liked to spar in. He was alone and seemed unbothered. Yeosang landed his feet on the roof of the nearest building and watched him, considering turning back. He didn’t know if he waited for him, or if he also wanted time alone. He excluded the possibility of Hongjoong also being upset with him.

In the end, he decided to approach him, reluctantly and unsure of how to begin a conversation without the mention of the early events. He stopped as Hongjoong turned around, slowly fluttering Yeosang’s hand fan over his face. He gave him a short look, then went back to staring into the distance.

“You must have been in quite the hurry to leave.” Hongjoong said, with a chuckle. “You have never left your fan behind before.” He flicked his wrist, closing the fan, and handed it back to Yeosang. However, when he reached to take it, Hongjoong jerked his hand out of Yeosang’s reach. “How are you feeling?”

Yeosang lowered his hand. “Better. I hope you’re not insinuating I went somewhere else.”

“No…No, I don’t think you did.”

They stared each other down, both of their lips twitching with words, one crueler than the other, but Yeosang released his lungs free of air, and went to sit down next to Hongjoong, looking at the sun about to set between the trees. Hongjoong propped his chin into his palm, tapping the fan against his knee, and when he turned his head the other away, he passed it back to Yeosang.

“You look like you have something to say.”

Hongjoong did not seem to want to look his way yet, so Yeosang decided to avoid him as well. Maybe this was how Hongjoong acted with Mingi and Jongho, pretending to be upset over trivial matters, like adolescents do. But to Yeosang, an argument was an argument, no matter how childish. While Hongjoong was quiet, Yeosang thought about countless ways to cheer him up, including travelling the country to buy him gifts, and taking him with when he needed to go places.

“Why did I fall in love with you?” Hongjoong asked in the end.

Yeosang nearly dropped his fan. Hongjoong casted him a gentle look, rather insistent however, then disappointed when Yeosang shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Think.”

“I truly don’t know. This is so sudden coming from you.”

“It is…isn’t it…”

“What happened?”

Yeosang searched for a hint in Hongjoong’s eyes, but he found them as secretive as they never were. “Just…can you answer this?”

“Is it because…” He looked out in the distance. “I look after you? We look after each other?”

No answer came from Hongjoong for several moments. Then Yeosang turned his head towards him to ask, but instead, he found the king’s eyes glistening red with sunset, and his lips arched in a smile. A genuine one. Was it the answer that made him that happy? He turned around as well, strands of his hair outlining his face in autumnal colours. He was a gentle flame. “Because you feel like family.”

Before the answer travelled through the air to Yeosang’s ears, Hongjoong had already dropped his head on his shoulder, and held his hand.

Throughout his lifetimes, Yeosang had never been quelled of the dark sealed within him so quickly. “I do?”

“You do.”

Yeosang sighed, shortly, but quickly, like a breathy sob. He pressed a kiss on Hongjoong’s head. “Tell me what this is about?” He felt Hongjoong’s hand shaking around his. He could not guess what he wanted to say or what he was thinking, because he felt like whatever it was, it was about to disrupt what he saw in the back of his eyelids. There, an ideal lied. Taking Hongjoong to the top of the mountain, playing and hiding from each other through the forest, racing back to the base. Sleeping with each other in places people only dreamt to. Travelling to foreign countries and experiencing cultures together. Taking him to-

“I don’t want to marry.” Hongjoong said. “Yeosang, I really don’t. I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I don’t want the word ‘suitable’ next to anybody’s name, but yours.” He rubbed his forehead against Yeosang’s arm. A gesture that the spirit had seen children do when they wanted attention.

“I don’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“…Because it’s your duty. It’s part of your life as a king.”

“You want me to marry?”

“I want you to do what makes you happy.”

“Being like this with you makes me happy.” Hongjoong confided. Yeosang’s jaw clenched. “If you tell me not to marry, then I won’t.”

“I would never order you. Nor tell you how to live your life.”

“Yeosang.” The king pleaded. “I need this from you.”

“But who am I to stop you?”

Hongjoong kissed him quickly, with his hand at the nape of Yeosang’s neck, holding him still. “You.” He brushed their noses together, and smiled. “Just you. I don’t need anything else. You are you, and that is enough to stop me.”

“I know I matter to you, but I am nowhere near entitled enough to tell you what to do. I’m sorry. I hope you understand. I should not be a reason for you not to marry.”

“I’ve made you a reason. The biggest reason.”

When Hongjoong would fall asleep, his eyes would be the last to close. His body would fall asleep first, safe in Yeosang’s arms, but his eyes always fought to remain awake. Let alone his lips, who smiled tirelessly so long as Yeosang was there. In these seconds when Hongjoong’s eyes would close, slow as a sun dusking, Yeosang had time to learn the structure of the Universe by heart. He saw his _Imum Coeli_ and his Midheaven, and during some nights, he didn’t stop there.

“We’ll think about something. Something to make us both happy.” He breathed, resting his cheek against Hongjoong’s head.

“Care to go for a walk with me?”

Yeosang answered him by jumping down and taking both of his hands, then facing him. “Keep calm, I won’t drop you.”

“What-” The rest of his sentence came out as a soft gasp, as he felt his feet lifting slowly off the ground, and into the air. He grabbed Yeosang firmly by his wrists, his eyes down at the little whirl of soil and leaves forming around them. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” He gestured for Hongjoong to let him go, but he refused to. Then Yeosang took a step backwards from him, and Hongjoong took one forward. There was nothing underneath his feet to step on, but he felt like there was. With the closest display of fear he’s ever seen from the king, Yeosang let him go. “See? All is well.” Hongjoong nodded.

“I don’t like this.”

“You won’t fall, I promise. I’ve got you.” Then he suddenly let his hand go, running away from him. Hongjoong clenched his shaking fists, bringing them together to his chest. “Come to me. It’s safe.”

“No! Come get me! That’s too far!”

In mid-air, Yeosang sat down. Somehow. With his chin against his knee, and the other leg hanging freely, he chuckled. “It’s not too far. I’m right here. Come on. One step at a time.”

Hongjoong nodded. He relaxed his fists, closed his eyes, pictured a real ground beneath his feet, and took his first step. Then the other. He found no way to describe what was under his feet. There was something, but nothing at once. Yeosang was above the fence from the other entrance, too many steps away. Hongjoong counted them, but the ones he took were too small. He looked at Yeosang one more time, at the amused yet proud look in his eyes, at the strands of his hair blending with the sky, floating around him, and with the tree branches in his background crowning him. Swallowing thickly, Hongjoong untied his robe, took it off, and tossed it away. “Hongjoong?” Then came his boots. Until all he had on him was the white shirt and trousers he wore underneath. From there, he gave Yeosang the brightest grin he’s had, and with a burst of confidence, he began running. Caught off guard once more, Yeosang barely had time to gather his robes and stand up, before Hongjoong crashed into his arms, laughing wildly like he’s never had the chance. “Can we go higher?” He grinned. Yeosang kissed his hand, and as per his request, guided him to the level of the treetops. He was torn between watching him smile so purely, and kissing him until his lips would swell red. 

That time, Hongjoong let him go, following him with his eyes as he walked in circles around him. He ran until he became so small in the distance, his feet light and fleet. Like a red squirrel’s. And from a distance, he really looked like one. Yeosang thought he was seeing things when he noticed Hongjoong climbing a tree to its highest point.

“Hongjoong,” He called. “Just don’t fall-”

“If I do, you’ll catch me!”

Yeosang sighed. “I will, but…” And he flew all the way over to him, then to the topmost branch the tree could hold, and waited for him there.

“I knew you’d cheat.” Hongjoong scolded. He was close.

“Didn’t know we were racing.” Yeosang extended his arm to him, and scooted a little to the side. Hongjoong sat down besides him, dropping his cheek onto Yeosang’s lap, panting softly. It took him three exhales, then he turned around with the same grin, and said “Again.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, and leaned down to kiss him. “Again what? I thought you wanted us to walk?”

“I did, but this is more fun.”

“You can go again. I’ll wait for you.”

“You don’t want to come with?”

“…I like seeing you like this. I’m happy with just watching you.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “It’s boring without you.” He stood back up and dragged Yeosang after him by both of his hands. He seemed to think no more about the fact that there was no ground beneath his feet.

“You’re not afraid anymore?”

“No. Because I trust you.”

“Oh, I…I thought you were just happy.”

“I am. But I knew you wouldn’t let me fall. So here I am.”

“I know. It feels nice seeing the world so high, isn’t it?”

“Is that an allusion to my height, perhaps?”

“No. Not at all. We’re about the same height. We can be small together.”

“…I’m not small.”

“Of course not, who said that?” Yeosang’s eyes went adrift, searching. “Oh, no, are you about to chase after me now?”

“I was just about to.”

Yeosang had once been very similar to Hongjoong, and while they didn’t exchange words, he thought about those times. When he found clothes much restricting, when he cared not about etiquette, and when he had the ability to make an adventure out of everything. While he was with Hongjoong, he was as satisfied with watching him laugh and sprint like he was when he did that himself. And when he watched him, he remembered about the mark on his abdomen. And how happy he was if Hongjoong was happy, and how rested he was if Hongjoong slept. It worked the other way as well, but not as often. Yeosang appealed to the same serenity and calm he did on the mountain when it came to calming Hongjoong down, and for every time he managed to change Hongjoong’s mind from doing something reckless, he considered it an accomplishment. Like what he had done in that moment. He kissed and played with Hongjoong’s hair, then asked him softly if he’d rather go back on the ground. And Hongjoong made no sounds of protest.

With his hand above his for emotional support, Yeosang descended them slowly, closer to the ground. He was mostly worried about the king’s bare feet. Not because he was cold, but because he was swifter like that.

“You know…After we settle all of this…I wish to focus more on you.” Hongjoong said after a while. 

“I thought you already are.”

“Even more, I mean. I want us to talk more about who you used to be. Maybe we can find out where you come from, and who you were, and what your full name was. I’d love that.”

“I wasn’t that important. There are no records about me. My home might have been demolished for all I know.”

“There has to be someone who knows something. Your brother. Or Master Yunho. Or…Oh, Her Royal Highness? She told me you’ve met.” 

Yeosang’s eyes sparkled with a memory he was finally happy about. And so did Hongjoong’s, with the realisation that Yeosang began sharing things with him again. “I have indeed. She used to be my friend. I was in my lady form back then. I am glad I was reunited with her. I’ve met her fairly recently.”

“She knows about spirits. And so did my mother. There’s people who know so much about your kind. And you seem to forget how many worshippers Eunbaem has. Every story can be traced down, and in every legend there’s a bit of truth.”

Yeosang agreed with a nod. “Thank you for thinking about me.”

“What a strange thing to thank me for. We should look for a name for you when we return.”

“I’d love to. I missed having one. Is it alright for you to share your real name with me?”

Hongjoong hesitated. At times, he forgot about his own internal conflict with his names. “It is. But I’ve changed it.” He paused. “My last name is Kim…And my birth name is Hyeokjoon.”

“Oh.” Yeosang lowered his eyes. “I should have known Hongjoong wasn’t your real name.”

“It is now. I have buried the other one.”

“And Hongjoong is also your regnal name?”

“I’ve had people debate whether or not I have a regnal name. I changed my real name after the coronation ceremony. But yes, I would like Hongjoong to be my regnal name, and the name I would love to be called by.”

Yeosang raised his hand in the air, and as he did, the tips of his fingers began glowing blue. As if the air was his canvas, he wrote the characters for  焱 ‘flames’ and  君 ‘rule’. “Like this?”

Smiling politely rather than sincere, Hongjoong lifted his hand to see how the characters would feel, but as he touched them, they formed ripples like over water, and then faded. “Like that.”

“And…” In the same manner, Yeosang wrote  弘 ‘wide’ and  中 ‘centre’. Then looked at Hongjoong for confirmation. The king was smiling, the blue light streaming from the words written generating something of a meteor shower over his skin. “Like this?”

“Like that.” He waved his fingers in the air, watching the two characters vanish, like a drawing that’s been made in sand, and it dissipated within the others. “Say it.” Yeosang tilted his head in question. “My name.”

“…Hongjoong.”

The king came closer, cupping Yeosang’s cheek, then the other. “Again.”

Yeosang held in a short breath. They were so close to the ground, but not yet touching it. The tips of the leaves brushed against the soles of their feet. “Hongjoong.”

“I like the way you say it.” With his arms fully enveloped around Yeosang’s neck, he kissed him softly. “Again, please.”

Yeosang held him by his hips, pressing their bodies together. “Hongjoong.” And kissed him back, for longer, his hands wandering on the king’s back and waist. He felt Hongjoong tugging at the back of his collar, like he wanted to pull it. And his hands trickled down his collar, in need to reach his skin. His palms were hot, his tongue and his chest. “Hongjoong.” 

*

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang said to the shell of the king’s ear, watching him hold the blanket into his fists over his mouth. He whimpered into the fabric as a response to every inch Yeosang sled his finger in. His ribs and back were filled with love bites, and the skin around his neck was the colour of dusk. Yeosang pressed kisses at the nape of Hongjoong’s neck, and hushed him at the shell of his ear, as he dipped his fingers into the oil before going in to tease at Hongjoong’s entrance. The king shivered, burying his face completely into the blanket, his hands almost tearing the fabric apart. “My king, how vulnerable you are…and how delicious your skin looks…I almost want to open you up with my mouth.” 

Hongjoong lifted his head, shakingly jerking his head around to Yeosang. His eyes were teary.

Yeosang clenched his teeth, and before his carnal instincts would go manic, he shoved his second finger in, his heart flushed with a love so great, that he wanted to bite more bruises into his skin. As Hongjoong resumed his position, blanket now between his teeth and tears streaming, Yeosang kissed his shoulder softly, then harder and harder, until he deemed his skin ready for another bite. Hongjoong jolted up, his mouth wide open with a strangled moan. 

“You are making it very difficult for me to keep myself at bay, Your Highness. I would rather work you open quickly.” Yeosang rasped into the shell of Hongjoong’s ear, earning him a sob from the king. “But you look so frail…I cannot help but take it slow.” He chuckled, biting Hongjoong’s ear, as his finger moved back and forth even quicker than before. Hongjoong hugged the blanket to his chest, his forehead pressed into the mattress, and Yeosang added one more finger without any warning.

Hongjoong slammed his fist against the floor, “I’m not. Frail.” He growled, his tears soaking the mattress, all the more after Yeosang started scissoring his fingers inside him.

“You’re not? Is this enough for you?”

Hongjoong did not answer, but by the sounds he made, he was ready to say yes. Yeosang kissed his shoulder lovingly, thinking about how Hongjoong was always so determined to show that he can take a lot, that he is in control, a king over unexplored lands. He was willing to risk hurting himself just to prove Yeosang that he can and he is not afraid. And that is exactly why he added a third finger, making Hongjoong shot his eyes open in shock, making more room for tears. His elbows gave in and wanted to fall back onto his side, but Yeosang was there to support him. “Fucking…H-Hurry up,” He stammered, and Yeosang took advantage of the fact that Hongjoong wasn’t looking, and rolled his eyes. 

“Are you that eager to welcome me in? Be patient.”

Whatever Hongjoong wanted to say next died in his throat as Yeosang hooked his fingers upwards just to make him shut up. “That was for inappropriate use of language.” What he didn’t expect was for Hongjoong to make the sweetest noise. A soft, velvety moan, with his lips slightly parted, and his tear filled eyes gleaming like crescent moons. Yeosang swallowed and slowly pulled his fingers out. He’s had enough of not seeing his king’s entire face. Now that he knew the noises Hongjoong made when he reached his sweet spot, he was sure to ravish him.

He felt his silver scales revealing over his neck and jaw, and his claws growing sharp. He slapped Hongjoong’s hip to usher him to turn around. Hongjoong would not let go of the blanket, resting it over his mouth and neck, but the way he looked at Yeosang made him overlook this detail. If that is how he felt safest, who was he not to comply with what his king wanted. 

He hooked Hongjoong’s leg over his waist, watching closely how his chest and hands shivered in suspense. His little moans and whimpers made him want to treat him in the exact opposite way he meant to. While he hushed to him and smiled at him kindly, he aligned himself with Hongjoong’s entrance, pushing in almost painfully slow, as Hongjoong’s entire face disappeared behind the blanket again. His arms trembled furiously, making Yeosang think he was going to lunge at him in anger. “Slowly, my king. I don’t want to hurt you.” He leaned over and kissed Hongjoong’s forehead, whispering praises and words of adoration into his skin. Rolling his hips back and forth at a moderate pace, he maintained his eyes on Hongjoong, and at how hard his muscles were contracted. He dragged the blanket off his face, wiping his tears in the process, but his fist was still clenched around it. His eyes shot open in veneration at the sight of Yeosang’s blue eyes, his now elliptical pupils, the thin, needle-like fangs beneath his parted lips. Hongjoong reached his hand to bring Yeosang closer, arching in back. Ready and welcoming for Yeosang to bite through. And he smirked when he saw his serpentine eyes flaring up.

This was the spirit Hongjoong wanted to worship.

“Harder,” Hongjoong moaned, his head tossed back, red strands of hair stuck between his lips. “Harder, please,” He looked at Yeosang through dark, hooded eyes. No one, not even them, would be able to explain why Yeosang’s scales and pupils aroused him so much. “Please, you’re so beautiful! I’ll take you, I’ll take you all! All you offer me, please!” He begged, and all Yeosang could do was beam. His skin felt hot enough for his tears to sizzle on.

He grasped a thick lock of Hongjoong’s hair and tugged so hard, that he pulled him into a sitting position onto his lap, and his weight pressed him all the way down. He screamed, throwing his head back, that the tips of his hair brushed against Yeosang’s knees. His chest was an empty, flowerless field. The sight made Yeosang groan in near frustration.

As his knees began shaking violently, Yeosang pulled him back up, placing Hongjoong’s arms around his shoulders. “Hold on,” His voice was much lower, rough and diabolical. Hongjoong leaned over to kiss Yeosang, to feel his forked tongue wrapping around and seizing his. He moaned tunefully in his mouth, taking in every thrust, although slow, he was taking it all. He cupped his face roughly, and kissed him until his lips melted like sugar against Yeosang’s tongue. He slowly took initiative, sinking down as Yeosang thrusted upwards, sending jolts through every single of Hongjoong’s nerves. He blinked his tears away and tapped Yeosang’s lips until they parted. “I want it.” He said, and Yeosang met him with a smirk, before he opened his mouth and his tongue wrapped around Hongjoong’s finger. Hongjoong let out a miserable whine, pulling Yeosang in for another kiss, fighting to claim his tongue. Yeosang chuckled, which only made Hongjoong’s thighs grow weaker. He felt his scaled hands seize his hips, his claws almost piercing his skin, and pushing him downwards, punching every huff of air out of his lungs. His loud moans become whines, softer and needier, and although Yeosang was giving him his all, Hongjoong became clingier and much quieter. “Your Highness?” Hongjoong wiped his tears and hummed in response. Yeosang kissed him gently, licking Hongjoong’s lips teasingly, pulling away when he whined for another one. Hongjoong had to lean his hands over Yeosang’s shoulder, as he lost his balance at one particular violent thrust. “Feels like you’re almost there.”

Hongjoong nodded, and Yeosang flicked his forked tongue over his chin. “I’m not…I’m not bleeding yet.” He whimpered, his hands sliding down the scaled patches on Yeosang’s body, until he found a good spot to lean his hands on. He arched his back, rolling his hips like he was made to pleasure, trickles of sweat rolling down his neck.

“Is that what you’re after?”

With one hand to support his waist, and the other one on his behind, Yeosang leaned him back down, his claws having already scratched his skin. “Yes, let it hurt me.” He flicked his tongue over Hongjoong’s nipple as he started thrusting into him mercilessly and completely empty of love. Hongjoong pulled at Yeosang’s hair, his feet linked together at his back.

And without a warning, Yeosang bit Hongjoong’s neck, his fangs almost piercing his skin. His sight went white as he was close to his high, and dug his fangs into Hongjoong’s skin. Every bit of Hongjoong was wrapped around him. “Please…Please, let me.” He begged in a whisper, and Yeosang sucked the two beads of blood dry as he slowly pulled out, dropping his head on Hongjoong’s chest, kissing every bit of skin his lips could reach. He kissed his way down to below Hongjoong’s navel, wrapped his hand around his shaft, then enclosed his lips around the glans. All too fast for Hongjoong to register. He thrashed his head back and moaned Yeosang’s name like a chant, as the spirit wrapped his forked tongue around him, sucking in every bit of precum. Yeosang sunk further down on him, his tongue sliding along smoothly, and when he felt Hongjoong falling quiet, he dragged his teeth along as he bobbed his head back up. Hongjoong bucked his hips up, nearly making Yeosang gag, “Sorry…’m so sorry,” He panted, heaving out a strangled moan as Yeosang clawed at his hipbones. “I’m sorry, please!” And the serpent instantly rubbed circles over the scratch mark, humming as he took in every bit of Hongjoong. His warmth and taste, the place of his every vein, the texture of his skin. He took his time, sucking him dry with every roll of his tongue.

“I- I need to,” Hongjoong choked out, his voice high.

Yeosang hollowed his cheeks, counting the moments until Hongjoong would reach his high. He pressed his tongue against his slit as Hongjoong came, Yeosang’s lips tightly enclosed around him. He gathered up everything in his mouth before swallowing it all, going back to lap his tongue over what cum beads were left.

Yeosang dropped his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, catching his breath for good. He listened to Hongjoong’s heart going hummingbird speed underneath him.

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong moaned, wrapping his arms around his neck “Yeosang,” and nuzzling at the junction of his shoulder. He panted quietly, in short whines.

Yeosang leaned his palm against the back of Hongjoong’s head, securing it as he laid him down. One hand was caressing the king’s thighs, as the other one was stroking his cheek. Hongjoong chanted his name in whispers, as if Yeosang had unknowingly put a spell on him. He kissed the king’s forehead with a loving smile on. “Yes, my king,” and the corner of his lips “Hongjoong,” and cheek “My love,” and leaned his forehead over his “My joy and pride.”

Hongjoong kissed his lips, then again, much chaster and warmer. They kissed as cherry trees bloomed, and their tongues caressed together gently, like they were as thin as the blossoms. Yeosang cradled his head in his hands, and both Hongjoong’s arms and legs caged him shut against his body. “That was I taste like?” Hongjoong asked, his lips pursed. He didn’t look too pleased.

Yeosang hummed affirmatively and stole another kiss. “That’s your taste.” Hongjoong scrunched his nose, his eyes moving like water ripples with every blink. “You don’t like it?” Yeosang queried, and Hongjoong shook his head. “Well, I like it.” He kissed his lips once more, then the corner of his mouth. “I like it because it’s yours.”

He leaned over to kiss Hongjoong again, but ceased when he heard him giggle. “No, you don’t.” His arm almost fell down to his side, and the strength he was using to embrace him was almost pulling at Yeosang’s skin. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me?” Hongjoong shook his head. “I’m hurt.” As soon as a grin flowered on his face, Yeosang leaned over and kissed him again through his smile, and he held his lips there until they both broke into a fit of lazy giggles. Then he lowered to nose at his neck, like there was no other air he wanted to breathe in.

“Yeosang?” He said, and Yeosang smiled because he felt Hongjoong smile. He tucked himself further in the skin of his king’s neck. “When I die,” He paused purposely, and Yeosang’s eyes snapped open as if awakened from a nightmare, and his lips were ready to protest. Hongjoong’g smile, however, was that of what musicians feel when they find the perfect melody. Hopeful, like the first snowdrop blooming over heaps of snow, and bright like the sun glinting over raindrops. “I will keep my soul pure, so you can make me a spirit too.” Yeosang was now above him, shadowing over him like the shelter he’s always been. Hongjoong’s hands were drawn to him like tides were drawn to the sun and moon. “I won’t sleep anymore, and I’ll travel with you. I’ll go wherever you take me, no matter how far.” He raised himself tentatively to kiss Yeosang, but his smile became a merciful one when a tear outlined the side of his hand, and trailed down his wrist. “My love,” He cupped Yeosang’s cheek with his other hand. His eyes glowed blue so brightly, that even his tears were sky painted. “My love, don’t cry.”

Yeosang fell still, as grief surged in his chest. The kind of grief that only those doomed to eternity are forced to bear. One that he saved up only for him and his brother. He had explained that his energy was like a dam, and that feeding was like covering up any possible crack. What he failed to mention, was that the exact same thing applied to the rest of him as well.

Watching Hongjoong was like witnessing the miracle of fire descending on Earth. The element of fire was not divine. Hongjoong made the fire seem divine. His fingertips against his cheeks, the side of his thighs brushing against his. Sparks, over sparks, over blazing meteors.

And for hundreds of years, it baffled Yeosang as to why fire was the only one able to hurt him.

His heart was flooded with the realisation of how slowly grief settled in. It was easy for him to imagine a world without Hongjoong, but he dreaded even a sliver of thought about a world without the way he laughed when he won a duel, without the sunrise performing plays of light in his scarlet hair, with his voice so gentle to make the dew seem rough, and wild enough to crumble mountains. It was losing the parts of him Yeosang loved the most that hurt him this much. And sadly, it was almost every single one of them. It was only a matter of how long Hongjoong’s scent will linger on his robes, and how long that strand of hair will remain tangled around his finger until it flew away that shattered Yeosang’s heart.

Hongjoong pulled him close to kiss him and soothe him, but Yeosang broke out of his grip, blindingly patted at the mattress until he felt the corner of his robe. He slapped his hand over his mouth, tears breaking out of the corners of his eyes. “Wait, no!” Wrapping the robe around his shoulders, he leaned his empty feet on the windowsill, and found himself floating in the air, higher and higher. “Yeosang!”

His heart fell so heavy in his chest, that not even the night wind could keep him afloat. With a deep breath, he put the robe on properly, and when he looked down to tie it up to the cord, he noticed its dark colour, and the dragons embroidered on the sleeves. The town, the country, smelled like smoke, like arriving winter. The air around him smelled like Hongjoong. Warm, and earthly, like aromatic flowers, herbs, and soil after rain. He wrapped it around himself so tightly, until the dragons indented in his flesh, and his skin bore the same scent.

He flew to the mountaintop, his eyes stinging with cold, and red with salt. He allowed the light from San’s shrine to guide him, and when his eyes grew weary, he let himself to fall down on the ground, leaves and twigs cracking beneath him. It stung, and it stung well. “Hyungnim...I don't want this anymore.” He cried, his forehead hitting the ground, among the withered plants. He hugged himself tightly, crushing his ribs into each other, like any other pain was gentler than that of the heart. “I don’t want it, I don’t!” His tears spilt into the soil and cupped within the yellow leaves, and for a moment, the world had no air to breathe. Sound had nowhere to travel to and from. “Take me,” Over him lied something warm, like another layer of clothes, with a cozy, but salty smell. “Please, I beg.” His voice sounded like the leaves beneath him. San caressed his hair and shoulders, and one by one, Yeosang’s tears seemed to lift in the air, over the night sky. Yeosang tried to swallow the lump in his neck, wiping his tears with the sleeve of Hongjoong’s robe. He hugged his shaken shoulders, curling more into himself, the breeze making him aware of how wet his cheeks were. It hurt, and it hurt well. He raised his eyes to where San seemed to have placed his tears. Tears, which then shone like opals; even if they each became a sun, Yeosang would have still stared. San raised them in the sky next to where the moon sat, and the tears-now-gemstones seemed to rearrange themselves to appear like a new constellation. Two were in a line, the third one in a diagonal one, until each straight line became smaller and smaller, until it resembled a lightning. “I said I don’t want it. I don’t want anything. I’m tired.” More pressure seemed to have gathered around his shoulders, and warmer with that. Yeosang’s never felt San so physically close. Nonetheless, he found a form of comfort watching San’s makeshift stars sparkle like genuine ones, and just to make him smile, one by one they fell in arches, leaving a trail of glow behind. “I don’t have wishes.” The tear constellation seemed to tilt, and another shooting star fell. “Brother, I have nothing to wish for.” He waited, and then followed the third. When Yeosang remained silent, the fourth one came. Then the fifth, and the sixth. When the seventh one fell, much gracefully, Yeosang sighed. When the eighth said star dropped right over Yeosang’s nose, he parted his lips to speak, but what he wished for was not a wish in itself, but a poem. His wish would take years to write and moons to recite. He wished for tired mornings, birthdays and festivals, dark eyes, and hands smelling like earth and rosehip. “I wish-”

“Yeosang-ah!” His next words vanished in his throat. He tried to stand on his feet, but stumbled over his robe, and on his palms and knees, he crawled through the foliage, his eyes opened like a preying hawk’s. “Don’t fucking make me climb this mountain! Where are you?!” On any other occasion, Yeosang would have laughed, and would have definitely joked around to further annoy Hongjoong, but at that moment his heart grew and beat with such intensity, that his ribcage began trembling around it. He felt the wind whistle quizzically at his ear. “Oh, no, brother, he would definitely do it. He’s just that insane.” He stood up to his feet, securing the robe around him in any way he could, and wiped away all the soil that dirtied his knees. His feet were right over the mossy rocks that sat at the mountain edge, and the wind felt sweet as if spices wafted around him. Yeosang inhaled deeply, his eyes on the moon. “I wish it is his face that I see first every morning. I wish to be touched and held by no one else.” His fists were clenched, his nails shaped bows in the palm of his hand. “I wish for him.” And his eyes lowered in defeat. “It is him I wish for. And I want the other four wishes to be his.” The wind rested, and then came forward in a mild, playful push, almost driving Yeosang over the edge. “I know.” He smiled, and nodded.

He leapt forward, descending slowly, with his ankles crossed, as if there were indeed arms that carried him. He flew down through trees and wild flowers, and his arms were around him. Seconds before he landed, he flipped his hair fully over his shoulders and ran his fingers through it to smoothen it. He brushed his tongue against the walls of his cheeks, and he found his mouth still bearing Hongjoong’s aftertaste. His feet leaned against the ground, soundless, as he took cautious steps towards the entrance of the cave. He found Hongjoong’s horse resting about, but his owner was nowhere around. As he was about to descend the stone stairs, he was met with a bright figure, disheveled, flaming hair, in its most natural state. Yeosang backed away, both his fists still wrapped around the thin lock of his hair, and his knees were ready to give in.

“What were you thinking?” Hongjoong whispered, more worried than angry.

Yeosang shook his head, unable to form an answer. Perhaps because there wasn’t any having his behaviour excused. Hongjoong placed a hand on his back and guided him back into the cave, where it was much warmer. The candles lit up white as soon as they set foot in.

“Disrobe.” Hongjoong said, and Yeosang froze into place, thinking that the breakdown he had earlier might have altered his hearing. “Take your robe off.” He confirmed. Yeosang was still bewildered, but he did remove his arms from around himself, and the robe fell smoothly off his shoulders. “Turn around.” He went on, picking the robe off the floor. Yeosang crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his hands in shame, as another fabric, lighter, but rougher, sat on his shoulders. Hongjoong held it open for him to slide his arms through the sleeves, and once he did, Hongjoong took him by the shoulders and turned him back around. He tied the cord around his waist and tucked the collar one over the other so his collarbones wouldn’t show.

“You brought these for me?” Yeosang asked shyly, and in Hongjoong’s hands now was a soft blue overcoat, with flowers embroidered around the hems.

“You wore nothing underneath. And you talk to me of appropriate attire.”

Yeosang allowed Hongjoong to dress him, but he was yet too numb to find amusement in how the roles have reversed. Hongjoong’s hands were not as gentle as his, which at that moment worked in Yeosang’s favour, as it helped him see how angry Hongjoong was at him.

And once Yeosang was back to being decent and warm, Hongjoong took his hand.

“Will you tell me what upset you? What made you run away like that? I did not mean for the things I said to be hurtful.” 

Yeosang knew. But he was overcome with a fear so human, that his heart left him no choice, but to run away from it.

He remembered how fragile his body was, and how he screamed when his head hit the ground. The stone that nearly pierced his temple, the tree branches, rocks and whatever metallic tools those boys used to beat him up. How his body went numb with pain, how it rolled over the other side as one kicked him in the stomach. How one lied above him with his hands around his throat, as another was stepping over his eyes. What they left behind was bone and blood, and little skin. Yet Yeosang’s heart was still beating. His eyes filled with red with all the blood he spilled.

People who did not understand Yeosang’s fear of death were the ones who were not aware of how slowly he died. How he both felt and witnessed everything.

“Is this because of the way I mentioned dying?”

“Why would you say that to me when you know how scared I am of losing people? You know how I regard death and- and dying and mourning and having to live in a world without the other! You know all this and you still-” He held his shaken fingers over his mouth, and he never regretted more having left the mountain peak. “I told you I hate it when you’re so cold!”

Hongjoong inbreathed slowly, but in shreds. “And I’m going to be cruel to you one more time.” And the way he looked at Yeosang then was the same way he did when he ordered to have the traitors tortured. “Move on.”

Yeosang held his collar so tightly around his neck that it began to restrict his breathing. He shook his head in awe, and took one step back towards the cave entrance. And as if he knew he was going to run away again, Hongjoong grabbed his arms, right over where the dragon on his sleeves sat, and pressed into his skin possessively, until they would indeed imprint in his arms. “One day I will die. I will die and there is nothing that anyone can do about it. You cannot continue to sit next to me and fear every second that I’m going to die. I plan to live for a long time. And even a longer time now that you’re with me.”

Somewhere, at the base of a mountain or over the coast of a beach, wind started blowing, sharp and cold, enough to turn the grass and shores into mirrors.

“I know you dread the thought of death, but that should not stop you from enjoying life.”

“But are you not afraid?”

“No. I am afraid of the pain that comes with it. I am afraid of how the world around me will be without me. But I don’t fear death.” He softened his grip, and rested his hands on Yeosang’s shoulders, his thumbs massaging over where the colour left indents. 

“Look at me,” Hongjoong said lovingly, the same way Yeosang wanted to hear him say his I love yous. “Yeosang, please.”

And he did, but with reluctance. The grief that had then settled little below his heart was still pulsating, like the seconds after a new wound. Hongjoong’s hands lied on his cheeks, gentle yet protective, and the salt on Yeosang’s face was rough at the touch.

“I hope this-”

“You’re so beautiful.” Yeosang sighed, his hands drawn to Hongjoong’s cheeks. Cold and rough with stubble. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“No, but you’ve always made me feel like I am.” He chuckled, and pulled Yeosang into a gentle embrace. He inhaled his scent softly, picking up traces of dust and soil, which he had never smelled of before. He imagined him having fallen onto the ground, his body weak with grief, and crying all on his own. Kissing his hair softly, he rubbed circles on his back, and focused on the sound of his breathing, his little sighs which always made Hongjoong want to kiss his lips. “And you as well. You’re so much more beautiful.” He hugged Yeosang tighter, pressing their chests together, and nuzzled as close to the shell of his ear as he could. “You’re my victory. Your face, your voice, your arms that hug me. All of you. Everything that is you. My victory.”

Yeosang lifted his hands on Hongjoong’s upper back, right on the other side where his heart sat, and pressed into him, clawing at his clothes. “That is the sweetest way you’ve ever told me to yield.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “I meant to compliment you. And I put a lot of effort into it too.”

“I know,” Yeosang rasped softly, and leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you. I will continue to bring you honour."

With one last forehead kiss, Hongjoong hoisted Yeosang up in his arms, mumbling something about his feet being filthy and about how much he hated it when he didn’t wear shoes, but Yeosang smiled at him with all the love a smile could carry, and propped his chin over his shoulder.

"I will say this once: Never subject me to this kind of effort after we sleep together. You left me there in a lot of pain, you know."

"I'm...sorry. I did not think you could come after me so soon."

They rode along the same path they did when they first met, still just as quiet. It was a road Yeosang had walked on more times than the years he had lived, but then the dust on the path seemed to have become gold, and the rocks turned to rubies. Yeosang held the four tears-turned-gemstones into his hands, unsure about how to approach Hongjoong. He enjoyed the silence, and his presence at that, although there was quite a distance between them.

A few metres ahead was the bridge, the one where he had confessed his name for the first time. Yeosang waited until they reached it, and pulled the stones shaped like beads out of his sleeve. “I have something for you.” Hongjoong looked at him curiously. Yeosang took his hand and placed the beads into his hand. “Wishes.”

“Wishes?”

“Mm. You wish for something, and toss them in the air. They’ll become like stars.”

Hongjoong nodded, balancing his feet in the air while rolling the stones in his hand. He counted the wishes with the fingers from his other hand, and he seemed to struggle with a third one. Then he looked at Yeosang and passed him two beads. “No, I saved these for you.”

“So you already made wishes?”

Yeosang nodded, at a loss of words. He allowed his eyes to speak for him, and they fell on the perfect arch of the bridge of Hongjoong’s nose that he enjoyed kissing so much, and the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiled.

“I wish for abundant rains over the fields. I wish to continue to reign virtuously so I can be remembered, and leave a peaceful kingdom behind. I wish to dispose of those who are a threat to me and those I love.” He rolled the last bead between his fingers. “And I wish for you.”

“Hongjoong-”

“Hush now.” He demanded. The gemstone rolled to the palm of his hand, right over his lifeline. “I wish for you, be it in tellurian or ethereal body and blood.”

Before he threw the bead, Yeosang placed his hand over his, realising he had not yet admitted defeat. “Please don’t wish for me. You already have me. Wish for something more.”

Hongjoong considered. Or so he appeared to. “Alright then.” He lifted Yeosang’s hand, kissed his fingers, and while he was distracted, Hongjoong threw the bead up in the sky, until it vanished. “I wish for more of you.”

Yeosang lowered his shoulders. His heart was churning with feelings, so he could barely distinguish disappointment. But it was there.

“What did you wish for?” Hongjoong asked, and although he was not evident about it, he was still acting smug and proud, with a smirk on his lips. It was almost as if Yeosang did not allow Hongjoong to love him as much as his heart could carry, and Hongjoong, as stubborn as a mule thousandfold, showed him how much more he could love.

“Oh, um,” Yeosang thought. “San hyungnim gave me five wishes. And I used only one. I wished for him to give you the other four.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Yeosang shook his head.

“Why would you do that?”

“There isn’t anything in particular I wish for. The things I truly want are idealistic and…unrealistic. So I gave them to you.”

“You could have wished for me.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. It almost appeared as if he knew what happened on the mountain.

“But I already have you.”

Hongjoong tapped his palm against the stone sill. “You do, but now your wish could have been among the stars, with mine, but no, you’ve decided to subject me to cosmic loneliness until my grave.”

Yeosang smiled wistfully. He received Hongjoong’s taunts as nothing less for blessings, as his head was free of witty responses. His soul felt too weak and enamoured to be able to bicker.

He would have rather Hongjoong spent this life alone than his next one. Yeosang was nowhere near willing to subject the love of his life to any form of loneliness.

“What were those gems you gave me? They felt strange in my hands. Wet, almost.”

“San hyungnim may or may not have materialised them from my tears.” Yeosang held the hand fan’s guard over his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong rubbed his hands, and as the moonlight fell over them, the cold and dewy traces seemed to sparkle like silver dust. “Is that why you gave them to me?”

Yeosang propped his chin in the heel of his palm as he leaned over the lip of the bridge. “I would have given you every wish, no matter which shape or form. I have no use for them.”

Shoulder to shoulder, Hongjoong sat next to him, rubbing the tip of his nose along his temple and cheekbone, before kissing it. “You know,” He smiled, kissing Yeosang’s temple. “If my life had a name, I would love it to be yours. No, my reign. I would name my reign after you! And if somehow we’ll be able to raise a son together, I want him to be named after you as well. Yeosang, I want the next king to have the same name as you, will you allow it?”

“Wait, there’s a lot to unpack in what you just said.”

“I know. But I meant everything. I would love nothing more than you to be my real family. In any way there is.”

Yeosang turned his head the opposite way, too vulnerable for his own good to keep his tears at bay. Hongjoong caressed his shoulder and embraced him tenderly. “I, as well.” He said, too uncertain. He expected himself to regret, but he did not. “I would love to.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Hongjoong wiped his tear, his hand lingering on his cheek. “I don’t know, maybe my time has come too.”

“To what?”

“To,” Yeosang chuckled nervously, then let out a frustrated noise at the stubborn tears not letting him live his life. “To settle down. To have a family too, maybe. To overcome my fears, and find a home somewhere. To go back to the same place, and to confront whatever comes my way, instead of fleeing and shifting and running.” He shook his head, and took Hongjoong’s hand away from his cheek. “But I worry.”

Hongjoong placed a soft kiss on his fingers. Then another. “I know you see things differently. Maybe you already know what’s going to happen. To me, or us.” Hongjoong wrapped an arm around him, tight enough for Yeosang to feel safe. “But I cannot help but feel strangely positive. I don’t welcome hardships, but I don’t run away from them either. In fact, I run through them. So even if there are things you don’t want me to know about,” He hooked his chin over Yeosang’s shoulder and kissed the skin of his neck. “I have a good feeling. That things are not going to turn out the way we want them to, but the way they should. And I can tell you another thing for certain,” He smiled, his eyes on the moon. “That the world started hating me less since I’ve met you.”

“The world has always loved you.”

“Not really. You’ve purified the palace in more ways than one. And you’ve made me aware of all the power I have been born with.”

When Yeosang embraced him back, Hongjoong found himself enveloped in the same kind of warmth he met on summer nights. From his heels to the top of his head, he was warm, and the air around him smelled soft, like baked sweets. “You too. For me.”

Over each other’s shoulder, each looked among the stars as if they were as close as tree crowns. Knowing they had both wished for each other, they could hold their eyes unblinking. Yet they prayed. They wished. They yearned. To be able to call each other ‘my tomorrow and my fortnight’ more often than they called each other ‘my love’. 

*

Skin bare, soaked within each other’s scent, and under the same quilt, they lied on their stomachs, shoulder to shoulder, propped against their elbows. Hongjoong was flipping through pages of novels with numerous characters, and biographies. Next to him, Yeosang had a thin pile of paper, and a calligraphy brush at ready to write down.

“’ _Hwang_?’” Hongjoong asked, checking to see if he wrote that name down. “Do you have this one?”

Yeosang checked the correct character and scribbled it down. “I do now.”

So far, on his list, there were ten family names, none of which Yeosang seemed happy with. Or none of which sounded familiar to him. He had politely refused to have the same name as Hongjoong, making sure to leave that option for the future.

Hongjoong was speaking, and by his quiet tone, it was probably to himself. Yeosang hummed to let him know he was listening, although he wasn’t. He was thoughtful. And when even that would get too much, he would kiss Hongjoong’s arm up to his shoulder and jaw, until Hongjoong would turn around and kiss his lips. “Are you tired? Should we stop?”

“No. I quite like this. What other names do you have for me?”

Hongjoong flipped the page, following the rows with his finger. He was searching through a list of writers and poets, as Yeosang had expressed he wanted to be named after one. “… _Kang_?”

Yeosang arched an eyebrow, and wrote two different characters for that name.

Hongjoong bumped his cheek against Yeosang’s arm. “What do you think?”

Yeosang put the brush back in its holder, and looked through the list he had made. “…But do I really need one? A name?”

“You don’t… _need_ one. But it would be nice to have one.”

“You think this last one is good for me?”

“…Kang Yeosang? It has a nice ring to it.”

“It does. I like it too…My heart is beating too fast.”

“Then the chances of this being your true name are high.”

“You think so?”

“If it made you feel things, then I would say so. Maybe there’s a meaning behind your reaction.”

With a smile on, on the back of his wrist, Yeosang wrote  姜 ‘ginger’. “I want this one.”

“…Then it’s all yours.” Hongjoong mumbled, kissing Yeosang’s wrist, right next to where his name sat. Then his head fell tired onto the pillow, with Yeosang’s hand still clutched to his chest. “Everything you set your eyes on will be yours, so long as I am here.”

“Thank you.” With his free hand, he pushed the writing tools and books out of their way, and lied his head down. “Will you hold me like this?” 

“…If I can…”

“You can. You’ve been through a lot last night.”

Hongjoong made a whining noise in protest. “You too…a lot…I’m not letting you go.” He whispered, and under the covers, curled his knees up. Yeosang smiled, ready to reply with something just as sweet, but Hongjoong went on. “Last time I let someone go…they died.” Hongjoong’s eyes were closed. His body was adrift with sleep. Yeosang wondered if this was the first stage of him having a nightmare. “They died, and I’m not getting them back.”

“This will very likely not happen with me.”

With a sceptical look in his eyes, Hongjoong said “But you know,” He paused, and bit his lip. “When I came back today, I was told that there were physicians in Her Royal Highness’ palace. She was already asleep when I arrived there. Little past noon. Were you here?”

“No, I…I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “It’s alright. None of this is your responsibility. I did get to see her for a short while when she woke up.”

“Is she alright now?”

“…I don’t know. I was told she went out for a walk with her maids, and then she just…fell. Her knees faltered. So, not only was she weak, she’s injured now too. It would not be the first time when I visited her at night. Have I ever told you she would never fall asleep before I did?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. She told me that. Sometimes she would fall asleep, then I could sneak into her palace as a child and ask her to play _janggi_ with me. Then she forbade me to, unless it was important.”

“Would you like to go see her now?”

“I want her to rest. But then I do want to see her again. But then…I’m afraid to go. But then-” Hongjoong clutched Yeosang’s hand, pressing it to his heart. If there was real blood running through the spirt’s veins, he would have felt numb, but he adored the sight before him so much, that if Hongjoong didn’t love him, he would have torn his arm apart and give it to him. Hongjoong pressed his lips. “ _May you find shelter in each other’s arms, and may the first and last thought of each day be each other’s name. Treat one another like friend and God and spouse, and never speak ill when one is not around. Should you ever feel lost, find that side of you within each other’s presence._ ”

Yeosang quirked his eyebrows, still with surprise at both the words and the wistful, poetic tone Hongjoong spoke in. “What is that?”

“This is what Her Royal Highness said to me. Late I realised she was talking about you.” Ready to show his gratitude, Yeosang smiled, but then Hongjoong looked down, and not out of timidity. The king dealt with things that Yeosang never had to be put through, so for that night, he let him speak the most. “But do you know what my father told me once?” Yeosang shook his head. “He told me that love has no place in a king’s heart.” Despite that, he never loosened his grip around Yeosang’s hand. “Does that make me less of a king? If I think about people with my heart? If I’m afraid to lose the only member of my family that’s left? If I fell in love with a man, when I myself am a man, and I wish to have a family with him?”

“I don’t think there’s ever been a human who hasn’t loved. Be it any form of love. And I’ve never considered love as something we can simply unlearn. There are times when duty gets in the way of loving truly. This is what I take from your father’s words. Not to let a thing as trivial as love get in the way. But once again, I will not let this happen to you…Duty comes first. And I. Second…And I’m flattered that Her Royal Highness thinks so highly of me. I’m honoured. I really am.” He smiled nervously. “But I also feel quite pressured.”

“Why?”

“Well, I need to be so much more careful, don’t I? About the things you confide in me with, and about the things you ask, and the advice I give you. And about my relationship with you, as well. And you. You are a lot to handle, you know?”

“I know. And I love that.”

“Of course you do.” He withdrew his hand from Hongjoong’s tight grip, leaning against his cheek. “See? None of these things make you less of a king. If your heart tells you to go visit Her Royal Highness when she’s feeling unwell, I say you should.”

Hongjoong blinked, and his eyes sparkled with tears. Thinking Yeosang had not seen it, he tucked his head to the spirit’s chest and hid himself there, to the safest place on Earth, and inhaled the sweet scent of his skin until doubt stopped tumulting his mind.


	8. Fallen Through Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He had used such a great amount of his power to hold the structure up by himself, that when he opened his eyes, he realised he was the only one holding it."

Hongjoong slowly leaned one finger, then a second and a third over Yeosang’s stomach, where he remembered his wound was. He could feel a certain roughness underneath his clothes, but the spirit did not give any signs of pain. “Are you going now?” He asked.

Yeosang nodded. He cut the thin rope in half, wrapped it around the neck of the wine bottle that he had bought earlier on that day, and stood up. 

“Do you need someone on standby for you?”

“Your Highness, what could possibly happen? I am hoping for the conversation not to be so boring.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, too deep within his role as king to express how smitten he was with the spirit when he acted that way. He sled the door open for him to exit first.

It was evening, little after dinner, when everyone was presumably back at their posts. Yeosang gave Hongjoong one last confident smile, before they separated ways. He was headed to the scholars’ chambers, where the historians also worked. One was on duty, following the king as they spoke, whereas the other was back to his desk work. He held the bottle by the rope in his left hand, and gently knocked at the door. It took several seconds for him to hear the sound of erratic trudging on the other side of it. “Your Lordship, Eunbaem.”

Yeosang bowed, gracefully. “I hope I’m not a bother.”

“No. Not at all. How may I be of assistance?”

“I was hoping we could have a little chat. I also brought you a gift.”

The historian opened the door wider, having lost a certain percentage of the politeness he had greeted Yeosang with. From the other room, the historian brought two cups on a wooden tray, setting them down on the desk. “You and the king’s secretary have become quite close. I wonder if ‘our little chat’ has anything to do with that.”

“Oh, I wonder as well,” Yeosang mumbled, opening the bottle and filling both cups. “We are not close. But he is a very intelligent and courteous man.” He picked his drink up and held it over his lips. “He has helped me a lot with my investigation.” As they both took their first sip while looking at each other.

“And you are here because I am on your suspect list.”

“I very much hope you are not, considering your occupation. I am not here to accuse you, I am here to clear another side of this problem we’re facing. And that is…the historical records. The ones you and your peers are responsible for.”

The historian nodded, gently putting the cup down. It had a sip left. “My biggest concern right now is the missing pages.”

He opened his eyes as wide as to burst out of their orbits. Then, Yeosang understood why he had not finished his drink. “There are no missing pages, Your Lordship.” He denied, on a much accusatory tone.

“Let me rephrase that.” Yeosang reclined his hands on the table, fingers linked. “The king was the one who found the missing pages while he was researching. It took a long discussion for him not to publicly shame you and punish you for misconduct. I am here to settle this as professionally as I possibly can. Now you may not have been the ones who stole them, but you, as one of the people responsible for this archive, allowed that to happen. My job here today is to find out if it was deliberate, or if there was any form of blackmail involved.” The historian looked away, towards his right, but his position remained. “Will you cooperate?”

“You are leaving me no choice.”

“You do have a choice. You will just have to suffer the consequences otherwise.” But the historian still wouldn’t say a thing. “I will not tell the king.”

At that, the man snorted. He picked his cup up and finally finished it. “Everyone knows what you and the king have been on about. It is not very honourable of you to lie to my face, Your Lordship.”

“That wasn’t a lie. I would not want to fill the king’s mind with unnecessary information. Nor would I want to stain his pride. My loyalty is his, and I honour him. Such is not the case for some people who have served at the palace for a generation now. So tell me, who was it? Was it the Black Dragon Order? Or was it you?”

The historian hid his hands underneath the table, staring into his empty cup. After a moment of silence, Yeosang took the bottle and refilled them both. The only voices around them were the low, muffled ones from outside. Yeosang didn’t pay attention to them. He maintained his pose, and his back straight like a sculpture’s, and waited.

“It wasn’t me. Nor was it my peers. I am loyal to the king. I was given the honour and blessing to stand so close to a Heaven-sent. I would do nothing to throw that away. But I’m afraid this reign isn’t going to be as peaceful as the king wished…You did well, calling everyone by name in court. It finally shone a light upon the ones who were loyal.” He nodded to himself. “But unfortunately, so much has happened before.”

“When did everything start?”

“Little after the king’s birthday.”

“Recently.”

“Yes.”

“And why hasn’t anything been done so far?”

“It has, but not enough. Everyone was trying to keep everything away from the king’s ears. Some were trying to protect him, and others were working and plotting against him. And some didn’t know.”

Yeosang nodded. With his elbows propped against the table, and his fingers linked, he stared the historian down. He saw the man follow how the sleeve rolled down to his elbow, like watching a stream of water when his tongue was drought. He swallowed. Yeosang smirked. “I’m listening, sir.”

The historian tapped his finger against the table, unsure. Then he stood up, made his way to the door, and locked it. Yeosang had not turned around. He was calm, if not calmer than before.

“It was the late king Hyeokjong himself, Your Lordship.” 

“…Was it, now?”

“Yes. The court was enraged. The queen was enraged. And out of fear and anger, he told us to rip the pages where Lady Minyeong’s name appeared…‘Let this be a mystery to them’, he said. ‘Hundreds of years from now, let them wonder’. I wrote those pages myself.”

Yeosang hummed. He inclined his head and looked out the window, connecting the dots and patterns. “Would a king really stain his honour this way?”

The historian smiled. He took a small sip. “Kings are still people, Your Lordship. They only have a lot more power, and when faced with things not under their control…they abuse of it…But our king is far more gentle. And kind. We pray he will remain.”

“I agree.” He wanted to continue, to promise him he will try his utmost. But that was not for the conversation at hand. “Is there any evidence for what happened to the pages?”

“They were to be burned…But you see, I don’t think they ever were. They were either buried with him, or stolen.” 

“…I understand. Thank you for sharing.”

He nodded. “Is there anything else?”

Yeosang took a thin lock of his hair, softly rubbing it between his fingers. “There is, yes.” Then withdrew his hands, leaning his palms on his thighs. “I need to see His Highness' records.”

“How authoritarian of you.”

“…Unlock the door.”

“…You don’t want to do this, Your Lordship.”

“I don’t want to. I must.”

With a low scoff, the historian stood up. He took slow steps, and Yeosang followed, slowly fluttering his fan under his chin. When the historian stopped, he took a step back. Anticipating. And smiling when it happened. Pulling something from underneath his collar, the man turned around, swinging the dagger a breath away from Yeosang’s face. With his eyebrow twitching in anger, he took him by his wrist, tighter and tighter until he dropped the blade. He parted his lips to speak, but instead, from outside, a female’s voice shouted:

_Her Royal Highness!_

_Queen Dowager!_

Yeosang clenched his teeth, his eyes shaking, and within one second when the historian attempted to release himself, he twisted his arm, turning him back around. He bashed the man’s head against the locked door, and kicked his hat away from him when he fell to the floor. A thin stream of blood erupted from his nose. On the wooden door, there was a slight bending. He left the unconscious body there, opened the windows, and jumped down from there. “Hongjoong,” He whispered to himself, and with his eyes closed, he searched. For his voice in the wind, for his scent. His trace was nowhere near his bedrooms, or any meeting hall. He hoped Hongjoong wasn’t there already. He hoped he wasn’t too late. 

He headed to Her Royal Highness’ chambers, where a commotion of people had gathered.

In the centre of the gateway, he stood as still as a boulder, facing the people running and shouting, and opening passage of people to allow the doctors to come through. “Hongjoong,” But the king failed to move. His arms fell limp to his sides, his fingers trembled, and his lower lash line was flooded with tears. “Hongjoong, she needs you.” Yeosang touched his shoulder, and Hongjoong flinched as strongly as a glass cracking. He took in a sharp breath of air, and leaned his cold hand over Yeosang’s, taking it away. He took uncertain steps forward. Yeosang followed him with his eyes.

His feet felt bare against the ground, with particles of dust and soil stabbing at the soles of his feet. They itched to move, to go see the queen. Memories flooded into his mind through his eyes. Her pink and blue hanbok, her black hair, like ink, and the intricate style her mother had done her hair. She was tall, with gentle features, and a waist like a wasp’s. She was the one who had called Yeori something more than a friend first. But even from there, he could feel a presence from her room. A weak one, the size of a pearl, but it was there. It was fluctuating, giving Yeosang an indication that she was exerting her last amounts of energy to speak with Hongjoong.

Yeosang stood by the gateway, his arms folded over his chest. On the sky, there were no stars, and the clouds were too light to bring rain. But his heart felt heavy enough to make the clouds weep. The palace grounds were clear of people, besides the guards at their posts and the queen's attendants, who sometimes whispered at each other. They were speaking kindly about the Queen Dowager.

“Your Lordship, Eunbaem,” A man in a pine green robe said. Yeosang lifted his head and stepped forward. “Her Royal Highness has summoned you.”

Although he had needed it as well, he felt undeserving. He lowered his head as a quiet thank you, and proceeded to walk to her chambers. He left his shoes outside, and sled the door open as quietly as he could. Hongjoong was by her bed. His eyes were crimson like they were unrested. He had not cried, and he was yet so powerful enough to smile. He made room for Yeosang and took his hand when invited to sit down.

“Our Eunbaem.” Her voice was low and came in rasps, still melodic as he remembered her. The room was warm, the air stale, but sweet with scented burned sticks. Her face was free of colour, her lips were a withered rose, and her eyes were like when dipping a paintbrush in water. “This old lady is not feeling like herself anymore.”

Yeosang touched the quilt covering her. “There are physicians here for you. And- And I could…I could check as well and-”

She shook her head. Yeosang understood. “…Will you make this painless for me?” She raised a trembling hand for Yeosang to hold. He cupped it between his, shaking his head, choosing not to believe what she had just asked. “I’ve grown old and weak.” She smiled. And this smile felt like nothing less of a jab of pain in both their chests.

“Your Royal Highness, you’re as strong and gorgeous as when I’ve met you the first time.” He held her hand tightly, lifting it to his chest. He gently ran his fingers of his other hand through her long, white hair. He bit his lower lip to stop it its tremor, and turned his head to Hongjoong. “…Your Highness?”

Hongjoong swallowed thickly. “…What will you do?”

“…Send her in a deep sleep. Until-” He looked down, and the next time he blinked, his first tear fell on top of his hand, and trickled down in between the fingers braided together. Hongjoong caressed his shoulder. “Forgive me.”

“Our Eunbaem,” Her Royal Highness said. The pain in her voice alone could make Yeosang cry for all the times he didn’t. “Be loyal to our king.”

“I am. And I will be. I-”

“I know you love him.”

Yeosang narrowed his shoulders, and looked down towards his right, forcing his lips to smile. Although he was timid, he nodded. “I do.”

He felt her wanting to take her hand away, so he opened up his palms like a lotus bud. Instead, her arm seemed to weakly travel up to touch his face. He held her palm against his cheek, and with her thumb, he wiped his tear away. “Don’t cry in front of the king.” She said. Yeosang wiped his tears, and held his jaw clenched. “If the one he loves cries…Then he will cry too.” Her smile, wide and oh so true, purified all the grief in the room. Hongjoong smiled with her, and soon, Yeosang too. She looked at Hongjoong, whom only the gods knew how he held his tears back. His pain lied in his jaw and cheeks.

Hongjoong caressed her hair, his heart beating on the tips of his fingers. Her hair was rough, thick, and soaked in sweat, and her breath came only in short wheezes and coughs. “At my desk,” She murmured, and looked at Hongjoong. “Give them all to Eunbaem.”

“I will.”

Yeosang gave them both a questioning look, but neither answered, just met his eyes with a smile less painful.

“…I will close my eyes now.” She said in a whisper. Yeosang closed his eyes along with her, channeling his strength, and the state of soul and mind he needed.

Hongjoong tugged on his sleeve. He sniffled silently. “Will it hurt?”

“No. I could never.” Yeosang took the queen’s hands and gently folded them over her chest. Her breathing was yet abrupt and weak, but even. “Do you want to stay here?”

Hongjoong nodded. “…She will sleep.”

“Yes, beloved. She will. She will not feel a thing.” In his peripheral, he saw Hongjoong nod.

Floating over Yeosang’s hand lied an empty talisman, with a silver vertical line over it. Yeosang took Hongjoong’s hand, touched the tips of his fingers, until they began glowing white. “Write her name here.” The talisman glided to his hand, and he proceeded to write. _Kim Suyang_.

Small, glowing spheres of blue emanated from Yeosang’s hand, enveloping the talisman, and outlining each stroke of the letters. Yeosang’s hand startled, and Hongjoong held him mildly by his wrist. He smiled encouragingly. Yeosang never wanted to see him grieving again. He turned his attention towards the queen, with Hongjoong’s hand feeling more than right around his wrist. He guided the talisman up towards the ceiling, while he mouthed chants.

Hongjoong drew his hand back, and touched the spirit’s back instead. He saw tears spilling out of his eyes, although he chanted religiously. He could not fathom how heavy Yeosang’s heart might have felt.

The queen’s name written in glowing blue fell down over her forehead, sinking within her skin. Her body had become soft, her lips had parted, and her arms were met with weakness, becoming unable to hold them together. Yeosang lowered them over her stomach, one on top of the other. “Goodbye,” Hongjoong said. They both kowtowed by her bed. He breathed in calmly, at peace with his thoughts. He saw her smiling and sharing wisdom with him. Embracing him as a child when he’d cry, when no one looked. When he opened his eyes to lift himself back up in a kneeling position, besides him he heard Yeosang sniffling. “Love,” He said, not knowing what to say next. Not after he’s learned how Yeosang dealt with loss.

Before summoning Yeosang, the Queen Dowager had told him to protect Eunbaem, no matter the way he loved him. To seek his advice because he was spiritually older, and to lean on him when the weight of the country became unbearable. When he reached his hand to touch him, Yeosang stood up, gently dabbing the corner of his sleeves against his cheeks. The queen was still sleeping. As per her last wish, Hongjoong went to the set of drawers by her desk, from where he picked up a fairly large jewellery box. He waited for Yeosang outside while he said his goodbyes. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t raised in the royal family. He wished he was raised in a way where family was just family. He wished he was raised with more love, and will less power to hold his tears back.

“Your Highness?” His servant said, approaching him cautiously.

“…Our Eunbaem has freed her of her pain…Let her rest.”

The servant bowed. He held the box in his arms tightly, with so much lack of self trust. The first thing Yeosang did when finally having left the Queen’s side was to caress Hongjoong’s cheek with the same hand he held her’s. Hongjoong kissed his palm. Everyone stepped out of their way while they walked back to the king’s rooms. They bowed before them both, offered their deepest thanks to Eunbaem. Within Hongjoong’s ears, Yeosang’s insecurity rung loud. He looked at him when the latter didn’t. When they arrived in his rooms, Yeosang sat down at the desk, removed all hair decorations from his hair, then took off his sash and robe, until he was left with the garments underneath. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me.”

There was always a special, far more peaceful space in Hongjoong’s mind, who never ceased to think about how stunning Yeosang was. “For what?” He joined him, sitting down on the opposite side and filling each a cup of water.

Yeosang drank his in one big sip. “I should have focused on you. I should have looked after you, and asked you how you felt, and-”

“I’m alright.”

“But-”

“I said I’m alright. I knew it was bound to happen soon. She was sick.” He sighed. “If I knew she died in agony, then it would have hurt…But she was smiling. She blessed us. She called you by your full name when you weren’t there. She ended her final chapter like every novel should end. And we should be happy about that. Maybe she will become a spirit.”

Yeosang smiled. “I was just about to say that. Her soul was pure.”

“It was.” With his knuckles, he pushed the jewellery box towards Yeosang. “This is what she wanted me to give you.”

“I don’t-”

“Open it.”

Before he did, he looked at the king’s face to get a sense of how much he was repressing. It was one of the few moments when his cold demeanour would be excused. Yeosang hardly ever felt uncomfortable when they were alone, but Hongjoong looked at him with king’s eyes rather than as a lover. He felt ashamed for having taken his robe off. He saw some affection and sympathy in his eyes, in the right amount for him to remain calm. He wondered how much he would offend him if he embraced him. After moments of hesitation, he opened the box, holding the tips of his fingers over his lips. “All of this…” Within the box there were rows of hairpins, from silver to gold to white jade, shaped like everything from dragons to flying birds to flowers in full bloom. Pendants and brooches with intricate designs, studded with gemstones he did not know the name of.

“How did the conversation with the historian go?”

The sudden change of subject left Yeosang stunned for a good moment. He was holding a gold hairpin with a phoenix at one end. He placed it back and wanted to tell Hongjoong that there was no need to pretend, but he knew him better than that. “…May I tell you tomorrow? There’s a lot on my mind right now.”

Standing up, Hongjoong untiled his robe and threw it over where Yeosang tossed his, and went over back to him. He took Yeosang’s long, honey hair in his hands, walking his fingers through it like it was sheets of gold. He divided it into thick locks, braided two of them together, and held them in place with a gold dragon hairpin. There was no mirror in his room, so Yeosang couldn’t tell what he had worked so hard on. But it felt nice. It did not feel too tight. Then, when Yeosang wanted to turn to him, he felt Hongjoong lying his forehead on his back, sighing deeply. Yeosang turned around and wrapped his arms around him. “Sorry. I’m just trying to-”

“There’s nothing you need to apologise for.” Yeosang interrupted him, not letting his insecure thoughts gain more power by voicing them. “I understand. Everything. I’m here for you.” He looked at the flickering light shining over Hongjoong’s red, and the number of times he’s seen that same sight, and every time he loved it more. “Tomorrow. I wanted to ask if we can talk. About…Well, many things, actually.” 

“We can.”

*

After two days of waiting, investigating, and mourning, Her Royal Highness’ body was prepared for burial. Her skin and hair had been bathed in fragrant rice water, her nails trimmed and well taken care of. Her hands were placed inside the pockets of her robe, and her body was wrapped in clothes and blankets. Her mouth was filled with rice and pearls, and besides her head lied the pieces of jewellery she was always seen wearing. Hongjoong, by his own choice, fasted for three days, for she had no sons alive to do that for her. He and Yeosang had not had the chance to exchange many words, which he had apologised for every morning and night. And every time, Yeosang told him there was no need. Hongjoong, having lost his training in fasting for so long, had Yeosang concern himself the more hours passed. At the end of the second day, the king had become visibly weak, but his hands were so filled with duties, that Yeosang had lost sight of him more often in one day than he did since they’ve met. He flew to the roof of Hongjoong’s bedrooms, and after a long time, he played the flute. He shifted the winds’ structure, making the air Hongjoong breathed to fill him with energy to see his act safely to the end. From wherever he was, Hongjoong heard him, and smiled.

The Queen’s wish was granted, and she was buried next to where her king was. During the ceremony, and after, mourning, white robes were worn. Half a day had passed in which Hongjoong failed to say a word to anyone. His hair was tied in a topknot, his white crown rested on his head, and his sword lied in his rack stand, shaped like a deer’s antlers. When he raised his hand to give the offerings, Yeosang noticed the tips of his fingernails painted with blood crescents within the palms of his hands. He breathed shortly, but rapidly, like he was physically extenuated, and his eyes trembled. He was the last one to leave the ceremony. He stood as still as he did when he had first heard the news. When he finally decided to leave the burial site, he returned to his room to get his sword, and have his grandmother’s name inscribed on its blade, below his mother’s.

He saw the other historian receiving medical attention, but he did not care enough to ask what happened. He went to the prison, picked up the little package filled with human skin patches, aligned them on the table, and while he looked at all of them individually, he tried to come to a decision. He remembered Queen Dowager’s advice, to seek counsel from Eunbaem when his own wisdom was clouded. He gathered back the skins, and ordered for a pyre to be built in the centre of those wooden posts. And he burned them all.

He had never felt happier to meet Yeosang in his room, wearing his nightwear, and his hair damp and wavy. Hongjoong forfeited to his weakness and fell down in his arms. He felt the acid in his stomach eating at its walls, and nauseous with starvation. It was bad, but not as bad as others had described it. Yeosang held him and kissed the top of his head, allowing him to snooze until midnight. And when it did, he excused himself, and went to prepare him his first meal in three days. Halfway to the kitchen, he was met with lady Sookja, the one who had shown him the baby, who was also going to the king’s room with a bowl of dumpling soup and a brass chafing dish filled with fish and vegetables, and a cup of fruit punch. “Please make sure he eats slow,” She said, passing the tray to Yeosang. Before she turned around to leave, Yeosang stopped her, saying “I might tell him soon.” To which she smiled.

Hongjoong was awakened at the smell of food, yet frowned at the sight of it. Yeosang helped him into his nightwear, and massaged his shoulders while he drank the soup. With one hand cupped underneath the spoon, Hongjoong picked up one dumpling and fed it to Yeosang. He did the same with his other dish, one bite for him, and the next for the spirit.

That entire day had passed with them not having exchanged a single word, yet they communicated so smoothly. Soon after he finished eating, Hongjoong crawled to Yeosang’s lap, turned on his side while pulling the blanket on him, and fell asleep like that. In his sleep, he searched for Yeosang’s hand, and when he leaned it on his shoulder, Hongjoong took it and held it against his lips. Yeosang sighed, looking at how he had prepared his painting station, but Hongjoong had prevented him from doing that in the sweetest way.

The spirit closed his eyes, and with the back of his head against the wall, he meditated. He tried to connect with San, to read and dissect the dreams he’s had. Most of them were about the present, and about the recent events, all which Yeosang already, and unfortunately, knew about. He walked through the dreams like he was the one who’s had them, and there have also been times where he could walk through those oneiric landscapes. Sometimes they were labyrinths, other times they were forests with blue trees, and sometimes even war carnages. That time it was an empty room with a dusty chair in the middle, and a small, barred window to the left. Outside, it was dark. The ceiling was low, almost reaching the top of Yeosang’s head, and the wooden floor was dusty in places. But there were dustless shapes on the floor, as if someone had removed the objects lying there recently. _A tomb_ , Yeosang thought. It was not a dream that he could walk through, but from where he stood, he saw enough.

“…Mountain,” Hongjoong mumbled, and Yeosang opened his eyes suddenly. His hand was relaxed and still, and Hongjoong’s breath against it wasn’t as soft as before. “…Want to go.” His eyes were barely opened, but moments later, he rubbed them with his knuckles, and lifted his head up.

Yeosang tilted his head, blinking confusedly. “…You dreamt about it.” He tucked a stray strand behind his ear. “You want to see it again?”

Hongjoong nodded, hesitantly. “Maybe a short adventure might make me more tired.” He played with the cord from around Yeosang’s waist. “I don’t want my heart to weigh me down anymore.”

“Very well, then.” Yeosang smiled. “Right now?”

Hongjoong nodded once more, and went to pick a darker coloured robe. Yeosang dressed himself back as well in the meantime, and grabbed the ends of his hair between his palms, leaving it straight and dry after the touch. What Hongjoong had was not a dream. Yeosang knew, for he already saw how long it took Hongjoong to enter his deep sleep, and it took a lot more for him to have something to dream of. What he saw in his sleep, however, was something of a message. A calling. From San. Something else Yeosang knew about, and had awaited. He saw Hongjoong dressing himself in maroon and black, like a swordsman, and tying his hair high, with two strands handing by the front.

“Would you like to fly there? Since you’ve done it before.”

Hongjoong looked towards the horse stables, then nodded. They joined hands, and Hongjoong’s eyes were closed, far more relaxed than the first time the soles of his feet rose from the ground. His hand was safe holding Yeosang’s, but the rest of his body not so much. The air he breathed became gradually colder, and he found his hand searching for Yeosang’s more often. His hair floated along with him, his knees were slightly bent, his feet relaxed and weightless. “Open your eyes?” Yeosang asked. Hongjoong shook his head.

“If I fall, you’ll catch me.” Hongjoong said with a hint of anxiety.

“Oh, will I now?” He felt a smile in Yeosang’s voice. And in the next moment, he took his hand back.

Hongjoong’s breath froze in his lungs, and his eyes shot open. He didn’t fall. There was nothing he could hold onto, yet he didn’t fall. Yeosang smiled. He was at a safe distance. “Try this.” He went right next to Hongjoong, lifting his robes above his ankles, and setting his feet down like these was ground under. Hongjoong never realised how much his entire body was shaking until he did that. “Now walk like you normally would.” And Yeosang showed him, taking steps ahead of him. Hongjoong squinted his eyes at what was underneath him. To the left and right of Yeosang’s feet was a faint line of silver, like a bridge. The more Hongjoong walked, the more he could see it.

If he fell, Yeosang would catch him.

So he ran.

He ran past Yeosang, at full speed, like there was a wild animal chasing him.

No, rather, like he was gaining momentum to jump somewhere.

Yeosang’s heart almost free fell itself when he saw Hongjoong. He lifted his feet up from the bridge to follow him quicker, but when he had almost caught up with him, Hongjoong turned his head back at him with a mischievous grin.

And jumped. Past the edge of the air bridge. With his arms spread, and his hair now fully untied. A crown of red circled his head and shoulders.

“Hongjoong!” Yeosang gasped, going in a quick descent with his arm stretched out to catch him. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back towards him. “Never do that ag-” Hongjoong kissed him. He parted Yeosang’s lips and pressed in until their tongues met. Sinking both his hands into his hair, Hongjoong smiled, and tilted his head the other way.

Yeosang embraced him, one arm wrapped around his back, the other cupping his cheek. “Tighter,” Hongjoong moaned, and Yeosang complied. His breathing began to feel restricted, but he moaned nonetheless.

They kissed until the freezing air around them warmed their hands and feet, and until they wished they had a floor and a quilt around them. “You fool,” Yeosang whispered, wiping a bead of spit from Hongjoong’s lips, smiling lovingly when the king bit his finger.

“Any complaints?”

“Other than you almost sending me into cardiac arrest, no. None. You’re so reckless.” Yeosang appeared to be scolding him, but he kissed him once more.

“No. I just trust you.” He took Yeosang’s hand. “Take me back up there?”

“Why, so you could jump again?”

“I won’t.”

Yeosang shook his head. “Just walk here. The mountain’s this way.”

Hongjoong’s eyes traced the two lines, indicating him where the path was. That time, he behaved. He walked slow and admired the view, with his hands crossed at his back. One fact he was probably never going to find out was that Yeosang had tried to do this before with other people from his past as well. He wanted to show them how wonderful it felt to fly, but they all cried and cursed. “You’ll soon see a path. I need you to walk it, and I will meet you at the other end of it. My brother built it there, to keep the shrine safe from unneeded presences.”

“I understand. I’ll comply.”

Yeosang was about to praise him.

When Hongjoong’s feet landed at the beginning of the path, Yeosang took a short bow, unfolded his fan, and vanished behind the same old snowy whirl.

Before the king’s eyes was a black, dense forest and a stone-paved path. He took brave steps ahead, not deterring his eyes from what lied ahead. He heard rustling sounds coming from some small animals, the cawing of a corvid from far ahead, and the sounds of his steps a bit too loud. A faint whistle somewhere from his right. He whistled back, copying the tune. A growl and two bright beads of light came along, but as he approached them, they faded. He could not tell the trees apart, they were too tall and too rich for him to discern. He pursed his lips together and filled his lungs with air, getting ready to whistle again, when behind him, too close than the other signs, he felt something approaching. He unsheathed his sword, twirling around, and with a clean slash, he cut the leaf in a perfectly vertical line, right through its centre. He had never seen a leaf that big, and in the shape before. He watched it fall, slowly, when he heard a stone roll on behind him. He gasped and took a back step at the sight of the creature made out of a dark, shadowy matter. He gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands, and with his teeth clenched, he ran towards it, immediately holding his steps when the wolf-resembling creature jumped at him. He cut right through it until the darkness dissipated. Adrenaline ran through his blood as visibly as alcohol, and he licked his lips with a grin on. Wasting no more time, he continued walking the path in quicker steps. Then he stopped, closed his eyes, and quieted his breath. He stepped ahead cautiously, biting his lip when another shadow animal could come at him. He ridded the path of all of them, eagles with red eyes and a pack of wolves and other creatures he could not distinguish.

At the end of the path, he was met with a white, glowing birdlike creature with wide opened wings, sharp claws, and the head of a human wearing a tall, black hat. An _Inmyeonjo._ Hongjoong held his breath, and before he advanced, he sheathed his sword. The _Inmyeonjo_ bent its long neck to reach his height, and studied him from side to side. It had no expression on its face, like it was wearing a mask. Hongjoong raised his hand to touch it, and the _Inmyeonjo_ gave him its head to caress. He kept his eyes squinted to keep himself from going blind. He was not fond of the mythological creature lying ahead of him, but he felt like it meant no harm. The _Inmyeonjo_ took three steps back, then spread its wings one more time, and flew into the sky as rapidly as an arrow. Hongjoong watched it beat its immense wings, but before he could lose sight of it, it dissipated into shining spheres of blue light, and they fell back down close to the ground, aligning along the stone path. Then each of the blue spheres, ten at number, Hongjoong counted, became bigger, and the more they grew, the more they lost their perfect shape. They grew in length, and stopped when they had reached Hongjoong’s shoulder. They each gained thick paws, tails, fangs, and sharp claws, whiskers, feline eyes, and vertical lines along their coats. Steps away, at the end of the path, stood Yeosang, with his hand fan over his lips. The tigers walked towards him, rubbing the side of their heads against his robes lovingly, and he pet each of them. Then they all gathered by San’s shrine. “Welcome.” Hongjoong was yet speechless. He was frowning, unsure. “Are you upset-”

“Again.”

“What?”

“I want to go again.” Hongjoong cleared himself.

“You can’t. That was your initiation. And you passed.”

Hongjoong made a displeased sound. Yeosang walked alongside him as he took in the new place. The space around the shrine was clear of trees, and anything besides short and soft stands of grass. Glowing flowers, like dandelions, bloomed here and there, and rock formations, like cliffs, decorated the edge. Hongjoong put his sword down beside him, and kneeled on the cushion before San’s shrine, with his palms against the ground, and his forehead on the back of his fingers. While he paid his respects, the tigers sniffed him, and Yeosang watched him with a heart swelling with love.

Hongjoong took one last full bow, before he stood up. “I hope I did that right.”

A blue, flaring leaf came into view in front of Hongjoong. Slightly startled by it, he staggered back.

“He said yes.”

He pointed to the leaf. It was bigger than regular ones, and tripartite, with a much longer stem. “San?”

“Everything you see here…is San.”

Hongjoong looked around him. He liked San as a leaf better than he would have liked him as an entire tree.

“He likes you. Don’t worry. He said you are very skilled with your sword.”

He looked at the scintillating leaf. “Thank you.— Is there any way I can hear him too?”

“Maybe later. For now…Would this be a suitable time for you to have our conversation?”

“…Anytime is right for us to talk.”

They sat down on a tree log, shaved at the top, free of uneven surfaces and splinters. Hongjoong’s eyes wandered, although it was quite dark. From the ground, San lifted more shining and strange looking leaves for Hongjoong to see better. “Thank you…Again.” Then he jerked his head back around. “Sorry.”

“Worry not. Would you rather we walked instead?”

“No. I feel like what you are about to say is important. I’d rather listen like this.”

Yeosang nodded.

A quiet moment passed.

“About my conversation with your historian.”

Hongjoong’s lips threatened to smile. “I take it that you have something to do with him seeking medical attention today.”

“He drew his weapon at me-”

“He what?”

“But I left him unconscious.”

“You left him unconscious?”

“He locked the door and refused to open it.”

“…Why?”

“I wish I knew. The conversation went smoothly. I almost did not suspect him anymore, but then…I’m not sure why he did that, honestly. Maybe he does not trust me. He told me everything I asked. He told me about the missing pages.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows quirked up. “…And?”

“He said it was the late king who ordered to have them ripped and possibly burned. As a result of the backlash he had received. And in a moment of despair. Do you believe it?”

Hongjoong thought. He was not in a position where he could remain unbiased. “I think I do. The records were important for him, but he has also done plenty of shameful things that no one would want to be known for. Were the pages burned?”

They locked eyes for a moment. Yeosang’s were perpetually calm, and Hongjoong’s, the more time passed, the more the feeling in them shifted. Within Yeosang’s palm appeared a small scroll tied with a thin, white rope. A leaf approached Hongjoong as he took the scroll. He untied it, and he did not have to read through them to see what they were. _Lady Minyeong_. That was all it took. “…Where…”

“In Sungjo’s bedroom.”

“You- You went there?”

“I went everywhere. I have the gift of shifting and vanishing, and I will take advantage of it.”

Hongjoong’s lip trembled. “But how…I mean…the Order…”

“That is beyond me, I’m sorry.”

“He must have been so much more corrupted than I thought. Than anyone would have ever thought. I sometimes wonder why I don’t remember things.”

“Maybe they tried to protect you.”

“Maybe it was part of their plan. The Royal Family doesn’t raise you with love, Yeosang. You are not offered the luxury of an innocent childhood. They bathe you in teachings and rules and doctrines, and they force you into a miserable adulthood. They weren’t trying to protect me from anything. I just wonder how long ago has this planned commenced.”

“Maybe Geumcheon was not the village Lady Minyeong fled to.”

“But the village she was born in.”

“Yes. And maybe she is not alone there. A woman with no name and no background, cannot do much on her own. She must have had a certain power to her name. Someone she can rule for in the shadows.”

Hongjoong agreed with a nod. Yeosang gave him all the time he wanted. “…Thank you for finding these.”

“No need. Would you like me to bind them back?”

“Please. Let them laugh at him. A hundred years from now. Two hundred years from now.” He crumpled the pages in his fist, then Yeosang took them back before damaging them further. “Thank you. For everything. I could not have done this without you.”

“You’re very wel-”

“And I don’t believe what Master Yunho said. I don’t believe that you did something unforgivable. You’re nothing but pure.”

Yeosang looked at him and smiled. A smile that said ‘There is a right time for everything’. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes. I have quite a lot to say.” 

“Have you been repressing these things because you were afraid to speak to me?”

“No. I have just been thinking a lot. Given the,” He sighed. “Recent events.” He gathered his hands on his lap. The leaves formed a circle of light around them. The blue was the same one as Yeosang’s eyes. “I’ll fight.” He said.

Hongjoong held his breath. He had not blinked.

“I’ll fight alongside you. Be it like this. Or with a sword in my hand. I will be with you through it all.” He went on. A surge of questions and statements rolled off Hongjoong’s tongue, and as they did, they stumbled against and into each other, forming a cacophony of sounds with meanings lost. He hoped his silence was enough of an answer. His eyes shone with pride and love. But this silence of his was also expectant. “And I also…have a plan. Or a part of a plan.”

“I’m listening.”

Yeosang seemed to hesitate. But not out of uncertainty or shame, but out of something Hongjoong could not name. The spirit stared into the distance, and his eyes were like full moons. “I believe a staged marriage would rush things a bit."

“What?!”

“As a diversion. Or provocation. You name it.”

“Yeosang, what?”

“You heard me.”

"Wh-" Hongjoong struggled to remember language. "Whom do you want me to forge a marriage with?"

"Yeori."

Hongjoong scoffed. "Yeori would kill me."

"Yeori would kill every breathing man. I will be there to make sure she won't. It's for a good cause."

“But- How? Why? Please expand.”

“You said he seeks to end your bloodline. And as far as I know, the bloodline will die with you nonetheless. Given that you are not supposed to know of their plan, you were to marry and produce an heir as part of your duty. Stage a marriage, then. Let news travel around the country…Let them come at me instead.”

Hongjoong swallowed thickly. He shared the same gravity Yeosang bore in his eyes.

He nodded.

He trusted him.

“I will forge a story, and provide a clean record of my clan. And then…”

“…You will rule with me.”

“…I will rule with you.”

Hongjoong thought of his bloodline as a structure held up by pillars. And one by one, these pillars collapsed against the weight. He had used such a great amount of his power to hold the structure up by himself, that when he opened his eyes, he realised he was the only one holding it. 

“I am looking forward to you balancing two lives.”

“By now, you should already know how far I am willing to go for you. I will manage.”

But sometimes, the said structure felt lighter than other times. Not because another pillar has been built in the meantime, but because the more the weight pushed him down, the more he would crack. And someone was there to fill those cracks with gold. 

“But would you really sacrifice your integrity for this? For me?”

“Name one thing I wouldn’t sacrifice for you.”

Hongjoong applied that to himself. He thought of time, of life, of ideals, all of which he would undoubtedly sacrifice for the one he loved. And Yeosang had returned the gesture so many times. “…I can’t think of any.”

“Because there aren’t any.”

Hongjoong’s heart would have clenched and tumbled. He would have smiled or jumped into his arms. But the voice and tone with which he had said that was the same one he used when he said ‘stage a marriage’. Those were three words that it took longer than usual to overcome. Or to counter. He was grateful, nonetheless, and he felt the same.

And it was such a small thing as well. Such an intricate detail that might have been just poor phrasing that did not allow Hongjoong to say anything. And it was something that Yeosang could not tell yet. It was all for a greater good, and Hongjoong hated himself for not understanding. His need for familiarity and emotional proximity eclipsed everything else. And it was Yeosang’s fault.

The spirit held his hand out to him, inviting. “Let me show you something.” It took Hongjoong a fraction of a second more to take his hand. But to both of them, it was a lot longer.

Facing each other, they both kneeled before San’s shrine. The glimmering leaves followed in a row, until they lied down on the ground, once again in a circle. “Close your eyes,” Yeosang said. Hongjoong did as he was told, waiting for further instructions, but nothing happened. Yeosang didn’t move, and nothing around him did either. “Before we start,” Hongjoong tilted his chin upwards, as a sign that he was listening. He had not opened his eyes yet. Not until Yeosang touched his cheek and kissed him. “I want you to know that every possible way of getting closer to you has never made me anything, but the happiest.” He cupped his cheek with his other hand and kissed him again, for longer.

Sometimes Hongjoong didn’t know why he doubted him. Or he just asked himself who, indeed, was the creature putting doubt into his mind. “Me too.” He said, and held his eyes open until shame reached his eyelids. He cleared his throat and closed them back. Yeosang lied his hands over his.

“I will teach you how to talk to my brother.”

Hongjoong nodded once.

“And for that, I need you to focus. Picture a light, and you approaching it.” Now that his heart was a little more at ease, it was easy for him to listen. He coordinated his lungs to breathe as if he was asleep, and his mind to slow the steps as he walked towards the light. The cold over his fingers fluctuated in warm waves, and it crept up to his chest, then down his arm, and back up on his back. It felt almost like when Yeosang was in his serpentine form, and he was playing and crawling all over him. A mass of warm air circled over his helix and around his antihelix. Shivers ran down his arm, and it tickled. He could not reach that level of concentration yet, but his eyes did not open. The wind whistled softly around his ear, shifting into whispers. Hongjoong held his breath and listened. He deciphered one word, then the second, and he was left to guess the third. The light he imagined himself walking towards also transmuted into something tall, with a crown and a flowing white robe, and long, silver hair, brushing the ground.

Hongjoong opened his eyes when all went dark. The figure was gone, and his ear felt cold. Yeosang looked at him curiously.

“He told me to name my sword.”


	9. Lament Of Willows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will die the same death a thousand times if it means you never seeing the sun again.”

When he returned late at night, he would find Yeori wearing a pink hanbok, her hair done in a low and tight bun, with a phoenix hairpin secured across it, and with bowls resting on her shoulders, and one on top of her head, walking around the room with her back painfully straight. From what Hongjoong had heard, she had not dropped a single bowl. She practised her eye contact, speaking slower, and moving far more delicately.

Although Hongjoong struggled to communicate with her and his heart felt neutral about her presence there, he tried to maintain a distance. A distance that varied between polite and him being scared for his life. 

When he would be away, she’d study, and practice doing her makeup. Her maids dressed her in more and more layers of robes, all while she recited tongue twisters and answered questions about politics that Hongjoong’s servants threw at her when she least expected it. At night, when everyone was at a safe distance from her, she’d shapeshift, sneak out, and continue the paperwork. Creating a new bloodline and an entire family history was not exactly what Yeosang had been trained to do.

Hongjoong had told him that half of the effort he put himself through was unnecessary, but when he would say that, Yeosang was the one who failed to listen. He learned to conceal Yeori’s ears and tail and face marks, and create an illusion of her hair being far darker.

On the third night from being away from Hongjoong, he had returned to his room, and the king was already half undressed and expectant. He tore Yeosang’s robes apart and crawled over him, kissing him ravenously, until Yeosang rolled them around. He straddled and rode him until the moon travelled to the other side of the sky. Neither were tired, and their eyes flared just as brightly.

Yeosang left his room around the time when Yeori would start her training.

On the fourth day, Yeosang’s plan was finally put into action. He created the illusion of a nobleman who worked for the Office of Inspector General, and who wanted to offer his said daughter’s hand in marriage for the king. Although everything was staged, and her behaviour was right, the moment the king gave his approval, she had forgotten all of her training. San —who had possessed the soul of the illusory ‘father’, took over and went to make the preparations with the king’s men, while Yeori did her utmost not to be distracted by all the luxurious items and furniture around her. She was a free creature of the forest, never having been confided between four walls before. But Yeosang was in the back of her mind, successfully distracting her.

Before the grand entrance, Yeosang went to pray that wisdom would bash Hongjoong on the head like hail. And after that, he went to finish his wine, because wine made him less attentive to the people around him.

At the end of the day of the formal wedding proposal, Yeosang met Hongjoong at night, and to relieve the tension of that day, he bought him expensive wine, but did not allow him to get drunk.

Yeori was assigned a teacher for her royal customs lessons. She learned to hold her tongue and clench her teeth when she’d fail as well as when she received harsh comments for behaving inappropriately. The king and she were taught how to greet and bow before each other. It took great restrain of self from both of them to keep their distance and act polite. Hongjoong, through years of practice, has done well. Yeori, not quite. There have been no lessons for her about containing her smile when seeing the king. She gave in. And so did Hongjoong. She giggled, and so did he. When her teacher wanted to open her mouth to scold her, Hongjoong raised his hand. “Let her laugh. It sounds lovely.”

Since the king made that remark, people have started to speculate that he waited for so long so he could marry out of love. He also supported Yeori’s decision to keep her real name as her regnal one. Choosing a regnal name would have been considered a title, and that would have gone against her principles as a spirit. Hongjoong advised everyone to best not meddle with her decision.

The date of the ceremony was set soon. As it approached, Yeosang had spent the first half of his nights by San’s shrine, and the second beside Hongjoong. He read and deciphered dreams for hours, searching for even the slightest clue of how the future days will present. But mostly, he searched for bad omen. Things have been too quiet, and that was enough of a sign. Half a night was not enough for him to meditate and connect with San, but it was a process he needed to learn how to rush.

During one of the nights, he heard the sound of gravel rolling and rustling somewhere along the path to the shrine. San summoned his tigers, and they all gathered around Yeosang as he took his flute and went where the sound came from. The tigers hissed and bore their teeth, which left Yeosang confused, because he could not sense any form of threat. He ran his hand through their furs and signalled them to halt.

Before him stood a dark figure about the same height as him, shaking and panting. The tips of his hair brushed against his jaw, the corner of his lip was bruised, and his eyes were ember and haunted.

“How did you-” Yeosang wanted to ask him, but he found the boy running towards him and crashing into his arms, crumpling the back of his robe, almost tearing it apart. “Geummae,”

“Please,” He stammered. Yeosang held him tightly, dropping to his knees together when he saw that Geummae could not hold it.

“What happened?” Yeosang asked. “Dry your eyes, and tell me.”

Geummae released him, and wiped away tears he didn’t know he spilled. “You said you’ll kill me, should I ever hurt anyone.” He said in between hiccups, soaking Yeosang’s robe with his tears. “And I’m scared I will. But I don’t want to do it.” Over his shoulder, through the tigers’ eyes, Yeosang saw San. He saw him shaking his head. “I really don’t, Eunbaem, but he’s telling me to.”

“Who?” Yeosang grabbed Geummae’s wet cheeks, making him meet his eyes. He dried them with his sleeve, and when Geummae touched his hands, Yeosang saw the red underneath his nails, and around his cuticles. “What have you done?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was asleep, and then…then I woke up and I wasn’t in my bed, and I- I don’t know what happened.”

“But who’s making you do this? Whose voice is that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t recognise it. It’s loud and deep and sounds like a growl.”

“This blood on your hands…whose is it?” Geummae's hands twitched with he rhythm of his heart within Yeosang’s hands.

“I-It’s-” Geummae’s eyes were big, his eyelashes dewy. His waterline was flooded with tears that poured out of both the corners of his eyes, and continuously, like affluents. He smelled like the sea. His countenance was filled with symbolism and hexes. “It’s viper blood, Your Lordship.”

“Viper…” Yeosang whispered. The tigers hissed.

“I didn’t do it, I swear, it wasn’t me-”

“I believe you.” Yeosang discretely tried to pull his hands away, but out of fright, Geummae held them tightly. “But you must go back to the temple and ask Master Yunho for a ritual.”

With a gulp, Geummae stared. A shadow passed right across his golden eyes, as vividly as if it was one of their own. “I can’t…I left…All I did was to hurt the Blessed.”

“But why must you bear the burden on your own when you can free yourself from it?”

“If me hurting means others not hurting, then-” Geummae withdrew his hands suddenly, crawling back on his hands and feet, looking above Yeosang’s head. “Then I don’t care what he says… _what you say_ …”

“…Would you rather you lived a life of seclusion and compel the voice on your own?”

Geummae’s hands trembled, and the gravel underneath his hands quaked with them. He nodded. “You and the Blessed have been good to me. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve done enough.”

“You haven’t done anything to me. I still consider you my half-brother. But if you think this is best for you, then do so. But when I tell you that you have to stay strong, I mean it. There will be no one to soothe you at the bottom of the sea.”

Geummae nodded again, stubbornly looking down, but his eyes wavered as if swimming against the currents. He stood up, rubbing the gravel in his palm.

Yeosang touched his shoulder, and they met eyes. “Whatever you do, forget not for whom you fight for.”

“I won’t.” He took a bow, but made no effort to turn around and leave. Yeosang wordlessly walked along with him on the path, with the tigers following them. He wanted time to think, and there was none. And he did not want to think alone. The mountain creatures retreated from the path, all guardedly watching the new figure. “Will you walk? Or should I fly you down?”

“I will walk. I’m not afraid.”

“Take this with you, then.” He said, sending a blue flame his way. “A guiding light.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship.”

Up in the sky, Yeosang’s eyes were on the blue trace of the flame. The air was warm under his soles, and it smelled of salt. Too strongly to be pleasant. He hadn’t realised how alert his senses were until then. He closed his eyes to focus on the sounds, when something as lucid as a touch poked at his liver. He took his flute in his hand, touching his abdomen with the other. “You should be sleeping, king…Why are you restless,” He whispered to the winds, smiling, as he took a deep breath, aligned the flute’s mouthpiece to his mouth, and he played. A slow song, to cleanse the mountain peak of unwanted voices and shadows. Behind him, the tigers lied down, yawning with a tired roar before closing their eyes. Miles below him, he heard Geummae whistling and harmonising with him. Yeosang smiled into the song and played louder. He turned around, facing the palace. The king was wide awake.

It was only when the blue fire extinguished and Geummae was away from the mountain when Yeosang stopped playing. The moon was not where she was before. It was around the time when the tiger’s hour would end. Also the hour when Hongjoong was supposed to be sound asleep.

Yeosang looked towards the sky, his eyes half closed, like the dark was blinding. His heart was heavy. The soles of his feet were scorching to run away. To drink, to learn, to travel. To start a new life. But then he looked at Hongjoong’s little palace like he saw the heavens again.

With the flute in his hand, he flew over. The hairpins pulled at his hair, and his robe was restricting, but from somewhere far, he heard a faint whistle. Crystal and melodic, with a familiar rhythm. With his elbows against the window sat the king in his night robe, his hair ruffled and unbrushed, and every discomfort Yeosang felt drifted away along with Hongjoong’s breath while he sang.

As soon as the tips of his feet reached the floor and Hongjoong stopped playing, Yeosang kissed him while his lips were still pursed from whistling. He was all the things he never wanted to be. He was small and raw, tired and powerless with weariness, and with a heart bearing a blinding kind of love. Yeosang said these words to himself often, with every time being like the first. When Hongjoong wore red, his arms were big and strong, his voice was like the lion’s. And when he didn’t, he was soft and just a little more gentle. It was for him and him alone that Yeosang would die the same death a thousand times.

Hongjoong held Yeosang’s hands, running his thumbs over the pink circles from the pads of Yeosang’s fingers. They were deep, like stamp seals, from having played the flute for hours. “You played. I knew it wasn’t a dream.”

Yeosang opened his eyes wide.

In Hongjoong’s eyes, he saw green, and a new name for the song they played. 

*

On the night before the wedding ceremony, Yeosang wrote Hongjoong a message for when he woke up, about the closest thing to a prophecy he had elucidated.

Hongjoong had the security around the watchtowers enforced during the ceremony, and the contents of the message could be read in his eyes if someone looked at him long enough.

While they were each prepared and dressed within their palaces, they thought of each other. _Let them come at me_ , Yeosang’s voice echoed in the king’s mind.

The court was flooded with men carrying red and yellow flags, performance artists, palace officials dressed in red and waiting in their seats, and an array of guards and servants carrying the king and queen in their palanquins. Given the message from that morning, they found it easy to repress their smiles.

Hongjoong watched Yeori walking along the red carpet towards him with anxiety playing tricks on his vision. His heart thrummed quicker in both anticipation and apprehension. That day, his robes were darker, with less red, and encircled cranes carrying flowers embroidered on his sleeves and around his collars. The belt around his waist weighed more, and so did his new crown.

With her head up high, as expressive as a statue, Yeori looked at him as she approached him in slow steps. The glory of her once dark blonde hair was hidden underneath her crown. Tall and heavy, adorned with pearls and hair decorations. Her scarlet and gold robes were abundant in fabric, and even richer in gold, with a gentle luster, just like the rest of her. The strings of beads from Hongjoong’s crown hung little over his eyes and in the back of his head. He tilted his chin up just to see her better. The corners of his lips itched to arch. It had taken him days to not see a stranger in the young woman with now dark hair and brown eyes, and no colourful marks on her face and feet. Or fluffy ears and tail. He realised that was precisely the reason why she chose to keep her real name. They each bowed before each other twice.

She sat to his left while being entertained by dancers and musicians, and while being given an endless number of gifts. For a reason unknown to her, no men would look at her for more than half a second. She did not know if it was out of courtesy, or because of a rule, or a reason unknown to her. When all that was left for them was to watch the performances, at a safe distance from anyone’s ears, Hongjoong leaned towards her and mumbled: “I need to talk to you.”

Yeori nodded once. “Wait until the wedding night.”

Hongjoong panicked visibly. Yeori bit her tongue, controlling a smile, and poured Hongjoong a cup of wine.

Come the wedding night, where Yeori had to wait for Hongjoong in a smaller, and newly arranged bedroom. Her crown and hair adornments had been taken off. Hongjoong sat down on the other side of the table, both waiting for the doors to close. A long moment of silence had passed, during which they both looked towards the door. The tips of Yeori’s fingers shone blue, and in the air, she wrote

_What do we do?_

Then she took Hongjoong’s hand, touched his forefinger with hers, until it glimmered like hers.

_We talk,_ he wrote.

They both muffled their laughs. Then Hongjoong wrote

_Can you soundproof the room again?_

Yeori nodded, and made that happen. Strands of silver thread sprung across every wall of the room. “That which you sent me, was it a prophecy?”

“A dream. Less of a prophecy, but true nonetheless.”

Hongjoong looked down, and sighed through his nose. “When?”

“…I’m not sure. Soon. One of these days.”

“…I will send men to the centre of town. On patrol. Have them capture Sungjo’s posse. Then we hold them hostages…But Yeori-ah, I need you to confirm this.” Hongjoong looked out the window, biting the inside of his cheek, then looked back at her. “There will be a fight. And that is the reason why San told me to name my sword.”

Yeori smiled. She nodded. “Correct.”

“A rebellion of sorts.”

“Yes.”

Hongjoong clenched his fists, shaking at how much he contracted his muscles. “Then why am I here when I should be recruiting men.”

“Tell that to the people waiting outside.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and took his crown off. Then followed his first layer of robes. He tossed himself on the soft bedding, eyes closed. Yeori took her belt off, and untied the knots keeping her dress together. She folded it and placed it next to the table, then she filled two cups of wine and proceed to eat an entire bowl of walnuts, occasionally tossing one right into Hongjoong’s mouth. He had an unusual talent for catching things between his teeth. “Do you worry?”

“No.” He pondered. “Was thinking about what my life has become. In a matter of days. And how much more it will change. Within…another few days. I am expecting anything.”

Yeori smiled. Forcefully. Her chest was cold with disquiet. She had not touched her wine yet. She touched her heart, closed her eyes, and listened. She nodded, having heeded the voice, stood up, and shapeshifted. “Come with me.”

“Now? But…”

“Trust me.”

And sometimes, that was all the convincing it took. He covered himself back, and joined hands with Yeosang. In the dead of the night, when they were to lay in bed, they flew. They walked through the air like it was virgin land. He didn’t let go, he didn’t run.

Yeosang took him to above the capital, on a street that went up the hill. “Where are we going?” Hongjoong asked, and wherever that place was, Yeosang was determined to make it there. He stopped in front of a house, cleared his throat, and gently knocked at the door. “Lady Kyungsook?” Hongjoong took a step back and looked at Yeosang for explanations. Soon, a young lady in a green hanbok opened the door, peeking only her eyes out.

“Ah, Eunbaem, and-” She paused and changed her pose right away. “His Highness. Please, do come in.” She opened the door wide, smiling. “Is His Highness here to…”

“Yes. Worry not, we won’t be long, Children must be asleep already.”

“They are.” She spoke far quieter when they walked past their room. “And so is the little one, you might have to be a little quiet.”

“We will. I have been looking forward to seeing him again.”

Lady Kyungsook smiled, and with both her hands, she politely gestured towards the door. She bowed her head and let them know that they will find her in the main room in case of anything.

After she left, Yeosang met Hongjoong’s eyes and held his hand. He opened the door slowly, gesturing for Hongjoong to enter first. On the right side of the room was a crate filled with bedding, an empty mattress, and a tea table, and the left side was separated by a thin curtain. Yeosang laid his hand over his heart and parted the curtains, smiling brightly at the sleeping babe. He was wrapped up in sheets, with his little fists to the level of his head, his tiny lips pouting, and his chest rising so quickly with breaths. Hongjoong smiled. His hands were itching to caress him. “Would I wake him up if I…touched him?”

“If you’re gentle enough, I think not.”

Hongjoong nodded, rolled his sleeve up, and oh so softly, he caressed the babe’s cheek with the back of his finger. He smiled as he did, not ashamed to reveal how much he was enjoying the little one’s presence. “Is he lady Kyungsook’s son?”

“No.” He lowered his head. “…She found him. He was abandoned.”

“Oh.” Hongjoong set his hands on his lap, trying to read the expression on Yeosang’s face. His smile was gone, his shoulders stiff, and his eyes were searching. “Will you find him a family, then? I’m sure someone would be happy to have him.”

Yeosang looked the other way, then back at Hongjoong. He inbreathed calmly. Outside, the moon drew closer to the Earth, her rays casted shadows, and sunflowers turned to face her. There was a single part of Yeosang that hesitated. A small one, that weighed greatly. He gave himself no limit on what he would do to redeem himself, but that might have been the closest. He was something above the human species, but he was never good at thinking like one. “I was,” He stopped himself in time, and thought. About dreams and their meanings. Hongjoong was truly rebuilding him out of promises. “I was thinking about you and I.”

The baby’s little fist opened up like he wanted something to hold, then closed it back. Hongjoong looked at him, and imagined that what rested behind his eyelids was bright and blue. “You and I,” he echoed. Then his lips twitched. More and more, until they smiled a crescent moon. “Really?” Yeosang nodded. Hongjoong sighed, eyes closed, and leaned down on his side, until his face was buried into Yeosang’s lap. He collected the spirit’s blue robes in his fist and held them against his lips. Yeosang caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers, then leaned down to kiss his temple, and as his lips touched his skin, Hongjoong said “Yeosang-ah,” Then leaned his hand on the covers wrapped around the baby, right next to his tiny hand. “Is this staged as well?”

“I’m sorry?”

“This.” His hand lingered. “Is it…part of your plan?” Then he lifted himself and they met eyes. He was less happy than Yeosang had expected him to be. “Because I would not be very happy if it was.”

“This isn’t part of any plan. I wanted to do this for us. Because of the talk we had that night.”

Hongjoong searched his eyes— the rims of his irises like they were inscribed with thoughts, and his eyelids, like the more they closed, the more they hid. But they were not. His eyes were clear like water streams. “Was it true, then?” His voice trembled in anticipation. “You thought of us?”

“I did. I meant everything I said. Then and now. I just-” He brought his hands together, slanting his eyes down to his lap. “The thought of parting ways with you, in more ways than one,” He shook his head, fearing to say the latter part of the sentence like he’d jinx it. “I don’t want that. Nothing is staged. I had not even thought of it…The day you had to take me to Master Yunho…earlier on that day.”

“You knew since then?”

“Yes. And I waited. I wasn’t sure. I was afraid. I never knew of what. But then,” He smiled. “But then…what we had been through. It made me realise that whatever it was that I was afraid of…was not worth it. I allowed that which I feared to overcome my wish to stay with you.”

“And are you still afraid now?”

“I am. So much. But even more than I am afraid, I want to come back to the same place with you…Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pretend.”

Hongjoong wished he knew as much as Yeosang did. He probably knew where that same place was, and he knew when they were going to come back as well. And he knew many things after that. He wished he knew as many future minutes and days as Yeosang did. And he wondered how much else he knew, while holding onto how careful Yeosang was to always say ‘we’.

“Pretend to what?”

It was not only the winds in his title that he weaved, and it was not only those winds that he controlled with the music he played.

“To be human again. I want the things you have, and the things you can obtain. I spent so long bringing families together, that I’ve never thought of myself.”

“I did. I thought of you.”

“I know you did. And I’m grateful. I always know when you think of me.”

Often, when Yeosang talked about things he claimed to have never gone through before, Hongjoong didn’t believe him. He thought the spirit had time for everything. He also thought that there have been people as smart as him. To love Yeosang for who and what he was. To ask for _him_ , and nothing _from_ him. 

Maybe all the lovers Yeosang once had and ran away from the memory of, were all parts that, generations later, would collect into one perfect human. Maybe they were all parts of Hongjoong, but because none of those men were complete, Yeosang dreaded them. And all the things he loved about them all finally came together.

“What are you thinking about?” Yeosang asked him, his heart itching to know the reason behind the king’s smile.

“That I really wanted to name the little one after you…But now see how that would not be very wise.”

Yeosang touched his hand, walking his fingers over the roughness of his knuckles until he reached his wrist. “I would be honoured."

Hongjoong nodded, smiling brighter than any other king was seen smiling. Yeosang wished he understood this side of him better. Or the eagerness and joy of becoming a parent in general. He was happy for them and for the little one, but for an unknown reason, he didn’t feel happy for Hongjoong. He knew nothing about being raised in the royal family, and his heart almost dropped when he heard that there were crown princes who married as early as fourteen. Elsewhere, this might have been normal, and he wished he understood it. He wished Hongjoong was allowed more time to manifest the liberation of his spirit, to fall from his horse and fall from trees as much as his skull could hold, and spar until his grip against the hilt would kindle the wood of the sword. But if the one thing that brought him joy in that moment was the safety of a family, Yeosang had too much heart to say no.

Before leaving for good, Hongjoong turned back one more time and covered the baby’s wrists, which made the little one whimper softly. His eyes lingered long after they stepped out of the room, unable to close the door behind him. Yeosang didn’t know if it was because he worried, or because he was overjoyed.

They walked beside each other in silence as if through a world where they were invisible. The street was empty before them, and the dust of the streets came in waves. Yeosang frowned. The smell of salt cinched around his airways. The back of his hand numbed in small circles, as one by one, scales surfaced on his skin. He walked his finger over the tube of the flute, while his eyes-

“Can we fly?” Hongjoong asked. He stood before Yeosang; his hair flowed in thin locks, like the tails of northern cardinals. He smiled. He was like the first of summer.

Yeosang nodded, and Hongjoong already prepared his hand to be held.

They walked through the air as they did before, just a little over the rooftops of the tallest buildings. Hongjoong looked down. The moon was small and less glorious, and there was not much to see. Yeosang’s eyes were all around him. He hoped Hongjoong would not turn around and see his instincts running wild. The smell of salt persisted. When he saw Hongjoong contemplating to jump down, he shifted the aerial bridge into a slope, giving the king a tired head shake when he smiled. And another one when Hongjoong did what he knew best —to fail to listen, that is, and jumped down nonetheless, landing gracefully on his feet. Yeosang watched him from above, lounging in the air, but following Hongjoong wherever he was headed in that darkness. He walked a path neither knew where it led, aligned with leafless trees. When Yeosang saw no people were coming their way, he sent down a row of blue flames to light up Hongjoong’s path. “You won’t walk with me?”

“I am. I’m right here.”

Hongjoong held his steps and jerked his head to his right, to a patch where trees grew like grass, and no sun would cast away the shadows. Underneath his every step there was a twig snapping in half, and rustling coming from everywhere. When Hongjoong was in his exploring state, he handed Yeosang all of his fears and duties like he “Hold my robe?”

Like that.

Hongjoong removed it, scrunched it up, and tossed it in the air. Yeosang caught it, folded it and hung it over his arm. And while he did, Hongjoong ran. Full speed like a feline gaining on its prey, and faster than the fiery lights could follow him. He fell when he failed to jump over a tree log, and Yeosang reached to help him, but he stood up with a chuckle, and continued running. Yeosang could feel the pain in his knee from up there, but he said nothing.

He had a feeling they both cheated death an exact number of times. 

Hongjoong’s steps ceased suddenly. He stood in the centre of a forest clearing, with blue outlining his figure, and he looked at the starry sky. At the moon, the same way he looked at people when he was interested. He panted softly through his nose and his fists were clenched. His lips always glowed a little more when he smiled. When he heard the rustling sounds of Yeosang’s feet against the grass, he looked at him and studied his face. “Your eyes are glowing.” He said. The blue fires shone on the scales from Yeosang’s skin. Hongjoong touched them gently, down to where his clothing unfortunately stopped him. “You know I like this on you.” 

Yeosang blushed, knowing what he implied. Hongjoong’s hands crept up to his chest, then wrapped his fingers around the hems of his overcoat, and pushed Yeosang to the ground. He knew his eyes flaring up meant that he felt threatened, but even so, Hongjoong crawled over him, seized his jaw, and kissed him. But just like every time he was too eager, strands of his hair would get caught in between their lips, and tickle Yeosang’s face. While he smiled, he ran his fingers through Hongjoong’s hair and swept it over his right shoulder. “Why’re you laughing?” Hongjoong mumbled in between kisses. He didn’t dare separate their lips.

“Your hair is…everywhere.”

Hongjoong lifted his head, then swung his hair until Yeosang’s face was completely engulfed in red. “Is that so?” And grinned at Yeosang’s muffled giggles.

“I miss the days when you were gentler.”

“But was I ever?” He drew his hair back and stood up in a sitting position. Yeosang caged his hips the moment he seized the chance. His claws were sharp, but not as long.

“When you took me to the temple. You were gentle to me then. Other than that, not so much. Gentleness was never one of your charms.” 

“Oh?” Hongjoong grabbed his hands and pinned them down little above Yeosang’s shoulders. The spirit gave him a hopeless look. ‘Predictable’ his eyes said. “What were my charms, then?” He asked, leaning in, and kissing Yeosang far slower.

“…I was never good at answering this question.”

“How many times were you asked this before?”

“People are curious. They like hearing good things about themselves.” 

“As if you do not.”

“They do make my day sometimes, yes.” He looked to his right, at how Hongjoong was rubbing circles in the palm of his hand. He used a lot of strength to hold Yeosang’s wrists down, although there was no need to. He would not have gone anywhere. If there was human blood circulating through his veins, his hands would have felt numb by then. He wanted them to feel so. “I’m not sure, really. Just you. You being you. And that was enough for me to-” Oh, and how many decades he could have shortened the world’s lifespan if he finished that sentence. How springs would have shifted into winters, and autumns into summers, and how rain would have started rising from the soil and into the clouds. “To get me where I am.” He said, and he was genuine.

“You know, during the wedding, since we couldn’t talk, I had this thought…I thought about what more could you possibly sacrifice for me. Because you always find something new. And it’s so…so subtle.”

“Subtle?” 

“Yes. You express love on such a cosmogonal, yet infinitesimal level, that my simple, human brain cannot percept it. I may hate it when you give vague answers, but with the amount of things you’ve done for me…it just…it shuts me up.”

“And you don’t like that. You don’t like it when you’re not allowed to be confrontational.” Yeosang teased, but it was for his own pleasure too.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to kiss you.”

“And I would love that above everything, but we may have to head back-” Yeosang sighed, letting his head fall back on the ground when Hongjoong did not seem to be listening. He kissed along Yeosang’s neck, tightening his grasp when he wanted to yank his wrists free.

“Should we?” Hongjoong asked, sealing their lips together before Yeosang answered. It was all better if he didn’t answer. “I’m free. I don’t want to go back.”

Holding his chin up with the side of his forefinger, Yeosang outlined the shape of Hongjoong’s lips with his thumb. “You’re free?”

Hongjoong nodded. “No one will ask me questions anymore. About heirs and marriages. I feel free. I don’t want to go back. I want to spend tonight with you, and I don’t want it to be there. There’s so much we can do.” Soughing, Yeosang cradled Hongjoong’s head to his chest, caressing him gently to urge him into calming down. “Do you not want to?”

“I do.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and Hongjoong’s scent and that of the grove were one and the same. If he hadn’t held him, he would have failed to recognise Hongjoong by his scent alone. “There’s a world out there I would really love you to see. I would love to show it to you. I wish I could take you to so many places.”

“Does that go on the list of things you wished I offered you?”

Hongjoong’s body melted into his, becoming heavier the more his muscles were relaxing. He’s never complained about ever being cold, but Yeosang noticed how the tip of his nose went pink when he was, so he brought summer winds to keep him warm. In that moment, he didn’t, however, as he enjoyed the way Hongjoong stuck his hands underneath Yeosang’s sash to warm them up. “I never wished for anything from you.”

“I appreciate it, but you sentenced that awfully.”

Yeosang laughed. “I meant I will never ask things from you. Even if you gave me a rock you stepped on, I would still be thankful. Because it’s from you.”

“Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“No.”

“I’ve given you gifts, and so have other people, but you threw them all away.”

“I never threw anything away. Especially if it was from you. I sold them to merchants, or exchanged them for food and gave it to the poor. There will always be people in need of something.”

“But do you ever think of yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, really? Like when?”

“Well…Say I receive something expensive, and I happen to love the item. I think about how much rice I could trade that for and how many families that would feed…And I don’t have to worry about never seeing the item again, because I could always ask you to get it again for me if I wanted.”

“That’s not you thinking about yourself.”

“No, it’s me being aware of how much you love me, and the things you’d be willing to do for me.”

“You…selfish monster. And just so you know, the answer I expected from you was ‘I am selfish when it comes to you’.”

“Ah, of course you were expecting me to talk about you.”

“Which is why you didn’t.”

“Sometimes my vulpine and serpentine instincts get in the way. I can’t help it.” He embraced Hongjoong breathless, and kissed his head, pouring all of his frustration into it. “I don’t know if I’m selfish when it comes to you. You never let me worry about it. You never looked at anyone else.” Hongjoong said nothing in response. He withdrew his hands, ready to stand, but Yeosang held him down. “Don’t leave. I was in the middle of appreciating you.”

“Or shaming me for being so gone for you.”

“Why, Your Highness, how could I…” He teased, releasing Hongjoong, his hands at ready to hold him again in case he broke his calm. But Hongjoong kissed him slowly like he hadn’t expected him to.

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“I know.” Yeosang said, and when he grinned, Hongjoong saw his fangs were sharper than usual.

But it soon faded when Hongjoong grabbed his cheeks and squeezed. “You know what this does to me. When you get like this…You’re making me wish we never left the bed.”

Yeosang jerked his head to the side until Hongjoong released him, his hand now caressing his neck. “Sometimes I wish we didn’t either. But tonight, I felt like this would be better.”

“It was. I’m grateful.” He smiled, and crawled off Yeosang and finally stood up. “Should we return?” And offered him his hand. Yeosang nodded, and took it. “But should we really, though? Are you sure?”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “You weren’t joking about not wanting to go back.”

Hongjoong picked the leaf bits stuck to Yeosang’s robe, gently, with his fore and middle finger, and straightened the folds left on his robe, while Yeosang mirrored him. Or was it Hongjoong who mirrored him.

Yeosang jerked his head towards the sky, eyes wide and threatening, and when Hongjoong saw his irises elongating, and scales rising along his neck, he knew better than to ask. Hongjoong’s chest rose with an intake of breath, but that fell still in his ribcage when Yeosang brutally pulled him behind him. The wind whistled sharply, and the second time he blinked, an arrow lied in Yeosang’s hand. And the arrow was a strand’s length away from Hongjoong’s eye. The king held his breath. “Yeosang,” he whispered. Drops of water poured from in between Yeosang’s fingers, the arrow shook in his hand until it snapped in two. His eyes shone blue like the flames that arose from his hands.

“Stay behind me.” He growled, the softness in his voice now gone. In his hands he held his flute, blue like river waters, with a jade flower pendant hanging from its end. He had not begun to play it, but he held it against his mouth like he was about to.

A voice came from somewhere high, as muffled as the distant murmur of a river. Yeosang lowered his flute and searched for the sound.

“Geummae.” He whispered.

A human figure materialised itself from the raindrops on the grass strands, forming something of a whirlpool on land. There lied a young man with dark hair falling loose down his shoulders, his eyes bright like gold, black robes, and a bow in his hand. The same young man who not long ago was sweeping a temple’s stairs, and who frightened when one barely touched him.

“Eunbaem. You lied to me.” He said softly, like he did not understand the meaning behind his own words. 

Yeosang stepped forward, with his arm still raised from his side as a shield to Hongjoong. “I never lied to you. I had no interest in doing that. If I lied to you, and you remained in the dark, you-”

“Tell me this, then —What if we fought?”

“Why would we?” Geummae growled like a hundred-year-old feline, and prepared to load another arrow. “Why so eager to fight me, suddenly?”

“Don’t play stupid. I know there is a prophecy. That we are all part of.”

Yeosang’s fingers twitched. His arm was still safeguarding Hongjoong, whose eyes he felt on him. They were curious and betrayed. They were bright and brown, shone like a tiger’s eye and they could bury Yeosang alive. They were earth, and had it not been for them, there would have been no rivers and seas and forests. And no mountains.

“I gave you no reason to fight me.”

“But you did. A snake is a snake, no matter the form. You made me a bird of prey. And birds of prey feed on your kind. I will burn you and eat you in front of your human.” Yeosang’s arm stiffened. Hongjoong clenched his teeth.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“We don’t. But you left me with no choice. I trusted you, and you lied.” Geummae angled his head to the side and took a back step. His eyes were ablaze, and towards Hongjoong, they were aimed better than his first arrow.

Yeosang spun the flute in his hand before angling it up to his mouth. Geummae smiled.

“Look away from him”

“What if I don’t?”

“I will die the same death a thousand times if it means you never seeing the sun again.”

A slow, but a cold wind blew, Geummae’s black locks beat in the air, and the ends of his hair became black feathers. “…So be it, then.” He smirked. Strings of raindrops rose from the ground, enveloping him in a veil of steam, and slowly, from his legs to his head, his body ebbed away like the tides; behind it, the leaves and grass pearled with drops. 

Yeosang dropped to his knees. Porcelain shards hidden beneath the dust of the streets pierced his palms. His eyes were lucid, and his lip trembled. The air was humid and salty, cold in a way that no wind could warm them up. San was nearby in a different form. Yeosang never failed to acknowledge his shape and presence until that day. He wished Hongjoong wasn’t there.

“Tell me what you need.” Hongjoong said. He kneeled besides Yeosang, and all the spirit could look at was how the shards stabbed Hongjoong’s hands. “I’ll give you anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are thinking about your future royal duties. I also know this is more important for you. What if…” He thought. “What if I told them to give us time alone tomorrow…That way you will have enough to go on the mountain, seek counsel, search for Geummae. I brought you into this chaos, and I will help you out of it.” 

Something else that Hongjoong did not know was that Yeosang had a spiritual attraction to chaos. He was instigated, even. And several times he was the one to initiate it, but never on purpose. His manner of finding himself within the eye of the storm was similar to falling asleep without blowing the candle out, and thinking that it was going to burn itself out. Then waking up confused as to why the room was on fire. Out of naiveté, if anything.

Just the way a king was ruling over the people, he’s always thought there was something of a king among the spirits too. Someone who’d forge prophecies and fates, and who found colossal joy in seeing Yeosang suffer. Who changed Yeosang’s future like he was a pawn in a poorly played board game.

He picked Hongjoong’s hands up, bringing them to his face, as filthy with dust and sand gravel as they were, he pressed them against his cheeks, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

*

“It is not everyday when a king asks for time alone with the queen. You might stir up more rumours than you want.” Yunho said, carefully opening the envelopes filled with dried herbs. He poured one into a mortar bowl, mixing them with dried snowdrop petals, before crushing and grinding them. 

“Rumours are nothing compared to tales and legends. I happen to be both. Rumours are less than a speck of dust under my claw.” Yeosang filled his cup with soju, grimacing when he saw there was nothing left in the bottle. “That aside, I’m here to talk about the boy.”

“I know. Never thought I would, but I was hoping you’d return.”

“What happened to him?”

“Not long after you left, he started talking to himself at night. He would be alone in his room, whispering and speaking to someone in an accusatory tone. Of course, there was nobody in the room. In the morning, he became quiet and obedient again. I asked him if there really was someone, although I knew what was happening, and he said ‘I’m not allowed to say anything’. After he left, underneath his bed I found papers where he wrote your name in blood. A hundred times.” 

“I see.”

“To my knowledge, this has to be part of a hexing spell.”

“I thought so too. Has he done anything like this to you?”

“No. He hasn’t tried to hurt me at all. But I did have some horrible dreams. He might have tried to curse me…But you. Don’t concern yourself with him too much now. He may have lost his mind, but he cannot do much. The only one he could hurt greatly is himself.”

“But when he started acting strange, have you not sensed anything?”

“I have, and I put a seal on his back to limit the ways he uses his titles. I expected him to feel paranoid and conflicted, as I thought that was part of something else. Tell me, do you know what happens to spirits right after their human body dies?” Yeosang shook his head. “…When the human body dies and it reincarnates into a spirit, the body rebuilds itself out of ether and astral matter and whichever element you were assigned to. You, for example. Your bones are back together, and the ether healed your wounds, but you are still as light as to be able to fly. You go undetected in the face of gravity, yet you have to make a conscious effort to land. It’s the same with forest spirits and sea spirits. Wooyoung was rebuilt while still drowning. He lived at the bottom of the sea while it ate away at his body for it to build him back. But what happens with the psyche during this process is that it enters a deep, meditative state. Coma. Call it however. But there is always an opening for the mind to wake up.”

“… And he woke up.”

“He did. This is why he is as vulnerable as a newborn. Well, he _is_ a newborn. His soul was not given enough to transmigrate, and all that shock and panic left it defenceless and prone to absorb any form of energy. Or…not energy as much as emotional waste…So for a while, I let him be. I let him bring me snakes and boars as offerings. I gave him time alone and I let him walk alongside me while this dark veil followed him everywhere. And now it’s like he stumbled, and everything that followed him fell as well. Right over him.”

“I thought it might be too late for me, but is there anything I can do?”

“There might be.” Yunho said, pouring his new herbal mixture into an envelope and dropping into a small drawer. “I need to tell you about someone…who might be able to help you in case Wooyoung goes rampant. Are you familiar with sea spirits?”

Yeosang frowned, remembering how the same sea spirits came into contact with him during the naming ritual. The same spirits who failed to protect their kind. “In a way.”

Above Yunho’s hand, out of fire, appeared a piece of paper, smaller than a talisman. He sent it Yeosang’s way. “He’s a mongrel too. He builds shrines wherever he finds space, but you’ll notice the architectural differences. His name is Seonghwa. He’s a physician, but also specialises in demonology.” He stood up and went to his bookshelf, looking for a small map he kept rolled up in a tube. He laid it across the table, and as soon as he did, the map began levitating. Several unmarked points began flickering in red, but at first glance, they did not seem to be connected, other than they were close to the seashores. Yunho groaned, cursed the map, and slammed it back onto the table, where it now obediently sat. “This is where he built those shrines, just so you’d have an idea about where he wanders.”

“How do you know him?”

Yunho smirked. “We fought. About a hundred years ago. I was cleansing the area, and he thought my temple was a hellion nest. Then I let him sleep here. San should be familiar with him too. Should you ever find Seonghwa, give him that paper. He’ll know it’s from me.”

“But how do I find him?”

“He senses hellions like a hunting dog. I would not be surprised if he was hunting down Wooyoung now. He will see the seal on his back, and bring him back to me…but if that doesn’t happen…I will search for him personally.”

“And leave the temple unattended?”

“What can I do if Yeori’s decided to become queen? The only thing spirits are good at is sacrificing…So if you can do that, I can leave the temple alone and hope for the best…I’ve grown quite fond of the kid. And now I feel sorry for not doing more.”

“I’m sure you did all you could. Doing more would have damaged him further.”

“It would have killed him from the inside.”

“…It would have, indeed.” Yeosang sighed. He touched his own shoulder, massaging it with his fingers as if a spirit’s muscles could ever get sore. Then he pinched the muscle.

Yunho smiled. “ _Jiān Jĭng_?”

“Indeed.”

Yunho stood up, then sat behind Yeosang. He supported his body with one arm, and with the other, he applied pressure on the same muscle. Then he dragged two fingers down Yeosang’s back, reaching his lungs. “Do you remember this one?”

“… _Zhōng Fŭ_?”

“Correct.” And pressed his fingers against the area. “Acupressure doesn’t work on spirits, now, does it?”

“It does not, but I do like to believe we can benefit from therapy too. We’re not gods. We’re not always happy. And. Pure. And. Gentle. Ethereal. Serene. Whatever humans call us.”

“Shall I cleanse you? Would a ritual help you?”

“What makes you think I need help?”

“You just spoke of therapy. You’ve never been good at internalising your feelings.”

“One day…I might have to ask you to cleanse me.” When Yunho tapped his shoulder to reassure him, Yeosang took his handfan and stood up. “I feel like I could also benefit a lot from Solitude. But I don’t have that luxury anymore.”

“I believe you do.”

“I can’t be away from him for too long, Blessed. Neither can he. Solitude is not him being safe and me away from him. Solitude is not him being dead and me being forced into loneliness. Solitude is knowing that he would live that sort of life with me. I would seclude myself on a remote mountain. Be it with him.”

“Are you going back to him now?”

“I have to. I needn’t take advantage of the king’s time.”

Yunho gathered his cloak and wrapped it around him, sliding his shoes on and following Yeosang out. “Eunbaem, do you ever think of yourself?”

The stairs leading to the temple were bloodstained, and animal hairs gathered in the corners. The grounds were clear of leaves, and instead, roof tiles and snapped tree branches were scattered all across the entrance gates. “No, Blessed.”

Yeosang smelled the beginning of winter. And blood, although dry. His abdomen stung. “Be careful not to get hurt.”

“I’m not worried about me getting hurt. I’m worried about me hurting others again.”

Through the forest he walked as human; the path which led him to the palace he walked as a fox, for he recognised it, having been there before with the king; and as soon as he reached the palace’s walls, he crawled through holes and around trees as a snake, away from everyone’s eyes. He did not speak often in that form, nor did Hongjoong demand anything from him. Yeosang crawled all over him, tucking his head to his neck, but Hongjoong picked him up and set him down on his pillow before he lied down. Yeosang rested his chin against his own coiled body, wishing he had eyelids in that form. Hongjoong caressed his scales, cupping his head over his little head. Yeosang leaned into the touch, flicking his tongue in short motions. When Hongjoong reminded him that it was time to leave, emphasising how much it hurt him to say so, Yeosang sighed and tried once again to wrap around Hongjoong. He kissed apologies onto the serpent’s body, and for once, Yeosang allowed him to break his promise and neglect his duty. It lasted until an incense stick would entirely burn, but it was the longest time Yeosang had spent thinking of himself.


	10. The Songster's Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeosang held his breath, then exhaled slowly, like there was a dark bird on his shoulder who coerced him into spreading deceit, and who threatened. He spoke like he feared for himself. "

The day Hongjoong wanted total military power was the day of Yeosang’s decline. And also the day when the spirit began writing something of a mental biography of the king.

They slept with each other almost every night, and as those nights progressed, it was not the love that instigated those moments, but longing in the form of compensation. It was short and cold and rushed. They both knew, and they looked at each other with guilt. Yeosang would sneak into Hongjoong’s room where the king would wait for him barely dressed and with cheeks flushed, and he would leave at the crack of dawn. Often without exchanging a single word. Hongjoong held and kissed his hand more often than he had done in the past month.

There were matters which Hongjoong discussed with his secretary and a man Yeosang’s never seen before that apparently were to be kept secret. When the spirit asked about them at night, Hongjoong was evasive. It took a certain amount of strength for Yeosang not to tell him that he knew already, but as the night went on he realised that it was because Hongjoong was afraid to tell him. He was afraid of Yeosang disagreeing with his decisions. And he did. Whether he already predicted it or not, Yeosang was never likely not to agree. Months of trust went into their bond, but then they found out that is was not enough.

Yeosang never returned to his bedchambers at night since. During the morning assembly they would not meet eyes. During meals they would not speak.

His eyes lost their luster, and they were often red. 

Hongjoong exchanged letters with the south, and it was rumoured that Sungjo’s personal guards waited at the palace entrance to deliver the letter back personally. Yeori (together with Yeosang) was never there to witness, and the lack of evidence and involvement and information made her physically ill. Her mind was turbulent with shards of dreams and prophecies where they kindled like firework sparks and resulted in headaches.

At night, she sometimes shifted, because Yeosang's anxiety would seep within her mind and heart as well, and regular headaches would turn into migraines that no physician could cure. They cried in their room, or on the mountain, where there was at least someone for offer comfort.

One night, Yeori laid her head on the pillow after a particularly violent breakdown, and as soon as her eyelids allowed her to rest, outside she heard the shouts of people telling each other to take shelter from the storm. Yeori ran to open the window, and the door to her room swung open at once. “I knew you caused this.” Hongjoong said, pushing Yeori away from the window and slamming it shut.

Hongjoong watcher her paint a horrible painting of a cliff, and her tears smudging the brush strokes before they dried. Hongjoong asked the same question, more insistent as tears fell. The wind was much milder than that of summer storms, but leaves were still ripped apart and twigs still flew as if through a slingshot, and wept in between that little space under the window. She let the brush fall out of her trembling hand, rolling onto the floor, and it was as if the black trail of ink spelled something.

The next morning assembly came after a sleepless night for the both of them. Yeori’s eyes were red and weary, her hairpins were uneven, and she breathed through parted lips like her throat was dry. Unable to take it anymore, Hongjoong approached her to at least touch her shoulder, although he knew how much she was against physical contact. But his heart froze when he saw her eyes blue. He parted his lips to ask her, and with a twitch of her hands, she gave in, her eyes rolled back, and the weight of her body fell.

_Four days. It’s been four fucking days, Yeosang, and you told me nothing. Not a single word. You sat here and suffered in silence and wouldn’t even look at me. Do you hate me? Have I done something?_

_Five days_ , Yeosang said. And that was all.

The next morning Yeosang was late for his routine for the only reason that he did not want to shift for the life of him. That was not the kind of life neither him or Yeori wanted to live. Maids were calling her name, asking to come in, to serve her something, to get her dressed, to prepare her, to ask if she’s alright. But what persuaded her was the mention of her having fallen ill because of the baby. Dreading the thought, she slapped her tears away, brought her human appearance forward, and presented herself courteously and gracefully. When the night came, she changed form and visited Hongjoong in his room.

“If you want to go, please go. I can’t bear knowing you’re suffering everyday because of being here.” Hongjoong said.

“No. I told you. Duty first. I. Second.”

“But this is not worth losing you like this. All I think about is you.”

“I can do it. I’ll never redeem myself if I don’t.”

“I care not about your redemption. Look what it’s doing to you.”

“You don’t understand. It’s alright if I’m hurting. As long as nobody else is.” He searched for Hongjoong’s hands and cradled them within his. He kissed his fingers gently, his lips resting.

“Is there something more you’re not telling me?”

“…No.” He lied. 

*

“Your Highness!” Men shouted in despair, and by the way their voices were drawing closer, Yeori prayed that it was just Hongjoong’s men calling for him. An intake of breath later, the door from her room sled open violently, and three men in wine coloured robes kowtowed. Her hand froze over the paper, and one drop of ink bled out of the brush and onto her poem. She swallowed. “Your Highness, please, convince His Highness to abrogate the decree!”

Yeori’s first thought was to appeal to her etiquette lessons and remember which one prepared her for situations of panic like the one at hand. A blink later she realised there were none. Deep down, the Eunbaem in her had the means and ways, but none could be filtered through the courteous behaviour of a palace lady. She set her brush down gently, with her pinkie up, then raised to her feet, and with her hands hidden beneath her _dangui,_ she made her way to the courtroom. Before leaving her palace, she ordered her attendants not to follow her.

As the only woman in the courtroom, she was viewed with eyes wide, and even after having seen Hongjoong so often, she wondered what could he have possibly done for people to desperately summon her. For years, his palace advisors had done a marvellous job in counselling. Throughout the days she spent as queen in the palace, she had come to think of herself as a line of defence. Hongjoong sought her advice, and her sole company during meals.

What Yeori had taught the palace officials was that she only opened her mouth to speak when it was utmost need to. The expression on her face was perpetually impassive, but her eyes were always omnipotent. She had ears in places she had never visited, and eyes where others could not reach. So when she walked along the carpet towards Hongjoong’s throne, it was like she divided the sea of men in two. Before Hongjoong was a scroll, and in his palm, a thin brush.

“I’d like to talk to His Highness in private.” She said, and she was frowned upon.

Soon came the hand tremor and the shortness of breath, signs she recognised from days prior. Holding onto her consciousness as close as Hongjoong held his swords when he slept, she raised her chin and breathed deeply. She wanted to cry. Her body was heavy and weak as if with illness. She had counted the days to that moment through poems. Never did she finish one. She dropped her brush more often.

“You heard her.” Hongjoong confirmed. One by one, wine robes stood up, bowed, and took their leave. The two outstared each other until the final man left and the guard shut the door.

As soon as the voices quieted down on the other side of the door, Yeori metamorphosed.

“What were you thinking?”

“You knew. You knew everything. But you told me nothing. You knew about me. You knew about Sungjo and about the rebellion. And you were there. With me. And for me. And now that all is unfolding…You’re not with me anymore.”

“I am. Why do you think I’m still here, then?”

“To tell me not to go. When you knew I was going to.”

“You are king. Military leader and strategist. But you are no general.”

“I am now. I am not taking the position from the general. I will simply lead the army with him.”

“But you told me nothing either. I know nothing of your plan.”

“Oh, but you do.” Hongjoong said. Yeosang’s tongue went numb. “That note you left for me in the morning of the wedding ceremony…‘When the king will not be present, the palace will be seized by men in red robes’ is what you wrote. And it never happened yet. But it will.”

“…Yes. It will.”

“And you. You said ‘Let them come at me’.”

“I did.”

“Does your offer still stand?”

“Yes.” Yeosang said like he regretted.

Hongjoong smiled. Not a smug one, but proud nonetheless. “Am I…connecting the dots?”

Yeosang nodded.

“You’ve been dropping hints for a while now.”

“But…what if something happened to you? What will this country do? There will be no one to take your place.”

“Protect me, then.”

“What…”

“Protect me. If you are so worried about me dying.”

“…Why are you so eager to die?”

“I never was. But I wonder. If I’m going there as king. As someone who seeks to defend this reign and dynasty.” Yeosang’s eyes softened. The truth within Hongjoong’s words lied in his tone. The words themselves might have as well been forged. “Or as someone who seeks to protect what’s left of his family. I wonder if I’m going there to settle an aggravated family issue.” He paused, letting it all sink into Yeosang’s heart. “Do you understand now, Yeosang?…I wonder if I’m going there as a brother. And as a son.”

Yeosang’s eyes were composed and his facial muscles were as inexpressive as through a painting. He did not know enough. Or rather, he knew so much that it did not feel like enough.

“Is this why you cried so much that you brought a storm over the capital? Because of my decision?”

“Of course. None of this is easy for me. You’re chaos embodied, I swear.”

The air in his lungs was never just that. They were shards of tomorrows and fortnights who have been forged too weakly, that they broke. When he was on the mountains, he built futures out of dreams and prophecies like Hongjoong carved knife hilts. Trial and error.

“You’re so calm. It’s almost like you want me to go.”

“I do not. I just know that me raising my voice will only blaze your anger. So I’m trying to make you see the world through my eyes. Once. Just once. But it never works.”

“You need to stop thinking about me dying. It worries me. I’d like to think I will come back. But you tell me about death…To me, it sounds like you know of a prophecy where I am indeed going to die.”

“No. The last days of the battle are still uncertain to both San hyungnim and I. I have no prophecy on that. Because if I did…I would know what the right decision is. But I do not.”

“I do. The right decision is to stay with me. And fight with me when the time comes. That is something we can both benefit from. I think we can agree on that.” Hongjoong said. Yeosang clenched his teeth, because he agreed. The logic in him agreed. The call of duty agreed. “What if you didn’t love me?” Hongjoong continued.

If in that second Yeosang looked down at his chest, and through him he saw an arrow named after Hongjoong. He would love the bow that shot it to be named after him. It took nothing more than Hongjoong’s name for his heart to shatter and bleed. “I- What?”

“What if. Tell me.”

“I don’t- I don’t know?”

“You would let me go. You’d see your mission to the end, and then move on.”

“What mission?”

“You’ve perfected your clueless act, but I’m starting to understand. That not only you have been giving me hints, but you work with premonitions and prophecies. I know that us meeting was part of a prophecy. Maybe even… _now_ is part of a prophecy. But something happened. That is not allowing you to complete your task. And that thing is your relationship with me. Am I wrong?”

“…No.”

“What was your mission, then?”

“…To accompany the king. And offer him my loyalty.”

“And have you fulfilled your task?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I did. But just when I thought it was over…something like this happens.”

Hongjoong smiled. “There should have been a prophecy to tell you I was a burden.”

“Oh, but you never were.”

One smiled, then so did the other.

They smiled like the future was theirs.

“You’re the last person I want to fight.” Hongjoong said.

“I have no wish to fight you either.”

“Then you need to stay strong. So I can be strong too.”

“You don’t need me to stay strong.”

“I do now. It’s because of you that I’m so fearless. It’s because of you that I was able to fly and free fall. Walk alone in the dark and explore places, and feel safe while doing it. I’m most scared when you’re not with me.”

“That is not true.”

“It is true. You’ve given me the greatest gift anyone’s ever given me. And I will repay you.” He took Yeosang’s hand and laid it against his heart. “With this. With this heart and life. I will keep it, as long as you are part of it. This one and the next.”

Yeosang gathered the red silk of his robe into his fist, tightly as it tugged on Hongjoong’s collar. The spirit had the most subtle of ways to express anger, and although Hongjoong loved it when he infuriated someone, he’s come to think that Yeosang wasn’t one of those people.

He hoped his decision would be enough to calm Yeosang and bring him a sense of safety, but the more his hand laid over his heart, the more he feared it would be torn apart. “Is this not enough?” Hongjoong asked, voice trembling.

Yeosang withdrew his hand, and inside his sleeves, he clenched his fists. “I don’t have a prophecy…but I have a dream. Would that help you?”

“Why have you bypassed my question?”

“I asked. Would that help you?”

“…Yes. It would.”

Yeosang held his breath, then exhaled slowly, like there was a dark bird on his shoulder who coerced him into spreading deceit, and who threatened. He spoke like he feared for himself. “Salt. And rocks. A cliff, perhaps.” And Hongjoong looked at him with eyes wide and perceptive, but unable to read anything from him. He wanted to interrupt Yeosang from speaking against his will like he had done before, but was too late.

“Is that all?”

Yeosang shook his head. “A storm. And lightning striking water.”

“Is it safe for you to be telling me this?”

“Yes.” He lied.


	11. The Stormsung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Beneath his eyelids, Yeosang saw a shimmery white, and about six indistinguishable silhouettes as if through a layer of mist. In his rest, he frowned. He walked through the soft, flaky white as if through snow, but no matter how much he tried to approach the silhouettes, they were still blurry."

When Hongjoong left, Yeori wordlessly watched him. As people wished him well and blessed him and praised him, she outstared him. She could walk the path to the war camp with her eyes closed. “My loyalty is forever with you, my king.” The Royal Army general said to him. “If this is what the king desires, then I am more than honoured to have him lead the army on my side.” Then all the pairs of eyes shifted to her, the only person who had not yet opened her mouth to bid the king well. But behind her lips never lied good words. Underneath her tongue she held cries, and pleads to join him. The palace was not a place for her to be alone in. Not when the mountain was so close.

“I trust you.” Hongjoong said to her. “Do you have your sword?”

Yeori nodded. Through his eyes, Hongjoong expressed hope and confidence, if not a bit of excitement as well. But even those were ephemeral. She felt Hongjoong’s determination as uncertain as an open dream. She smiled only when he did. “I won’t dishonour you.”

“I know.”

Up from the palace wall, joined by the guards, she watched the row of armours depart, like a river of black matter that flowed thickly through thin places. The drums beat with the rhythm of heartbeats, and when the one from the capital border missed a beat, Yeori lost her balance. She saw the black armours returning and the drums beating erratically. She collected her robes in her hands and ran to her room, where she prepared a notebook for her prophetic dreams and visions. With a shaken hand, she wrote what she saw. She felt something wet trickling down her cupid’s bow, then on her lip she tasted iron. She wiped the blood from her nose with the inside of her sleeve and continued to write.

People cried as if they mourned, and some left their posts too early.

Before Hongjoong left, Yeosang sought his counsel, and was ready to take notes. But Hongjoong laughed. “There’s nothing you need my advice for.” Yeosang stared at him in disbelief until the ink on his brush started drying. He felt like the king was mocking him, but he continued smiling, leaving Yeosang baffled. “Really. You know all there is to know.” He took the brush away from Yeosang, drying it up, then twirled it around his fingers. “You already know you will be alone. You already know you will be in danger of being assassinated every night. You already know you will need to keep your sword with you at all times.” Hongjoong said, eyeing the new sword that he commissioned for Yeosang. A sword more expensive than his, apparently. Blue and gold scabbard, and a yellow, leather hilt. “My advice is to never listen to them. They will try to stop you. They will say things like ‘We serve the king, not you’.” Hongjoong shook his head. “Do not take that to heart. Do not allow them to sully your title, your pride, and your status. You need your pride now more than ever…Do the things I have not been able to do thus far.”

And so Yeori did. She studied kings and their reforms, and spent hours in the royal library reading entire volumes. She assumed all of Hongjoong’s positions and duties, and during meetings she wore Hongjoong’s red dragon robe cascading down her back as a cape. She deployed more troops to enforce the border security around the capital, and early in the mornings, instead of the usual assembly, she visited dead fields and took notes on the people’s concerns. During her time alone she gained inspiration from the little fountain by the pond, and designed a manual pipe system for areas with decreased rainfall. She invested in the creative arts and the manufacturing of musical instruments, and that was only during her first two weeks of reigning in Hongjoong’s name.

During dinner, she read the letters Hongjoong sent her, reporting his full day at the camp. He had sent one every day, without fail. Yeori always thought about replying with what she had done that day too, and all of her plans and accomplishments, but she never did. She wrote Hongjoong the letters and piled them up in her drawer.

When the night came, she grabbed Hongjoong’s carving kit and climbed the same tree, where she made statuettes of owls and fox masks, and displayed them in Hongjoong’s room. She joined the court with a bow in her hand and a quiver over her shoulder, and if she heard music being played from the other side of the town, she grabbed her flute and her horse and off she was. She travelled the night alone with nothing but her sword, and when she was out of the watchtower’s view, she shapeshifted.

And while Yeosang was out, he opened the letters Hongjoong sent to him from the military camp. Most of them were short, and lacked detail and emotion as if they were status reports. He sent letters every day, although he did not have to. Sometimes numbness threatened at his abdomen. The last time it happened, Yeori was during a meeting, and as Yeosang wrote his reply, he remembered how quick he was willing to drop everything and fly to the camp.

During one night when the moon was still young, Yeori entered her private royal residence, weary after an entire day of travelling. She removed her shoes and her first hairpin, and when she lifted her eyes from the floor, in the corner of the room she saw a tall man wearing black robes. He wore a nobleman’s hat with thick black beads, and he smiled. “Who the hell are you?” Yeori asked. The man’s left eye was dark, an eyepatch covering his right one.

Yeori grasped the hairpin, running her finger through the sharp tip.

“What a foul language. And you call yourself a queen.” He bowed gracefully, then removed his hat, revealing long, raven locks. “I go by the name of Seonghwa. It’s nice to finally meet you, _Eunbaem_.”

Exhaling, Yeori removed all of her hair decorations. “You chose the worst time to find me.”

“Considering how long I’ve been searching for you, I say this is quite nice. You’re full of surprises.”

Yeori looked towards the door, at the faint shadows of her maids a corridor away. She whispered. “Can this wait for about an hour? Until everyone falls asleep. Then I will change my form and join you for a walk.”

Seonghwa agreed with a smile.

“That is impressive, I must say. It consumes a lot of energy for spirits to change appearance like that.”

“…It does. I see that now. Last time I presented mood swings this severely things did not…go so well. But I am slowly starting to adjust to it.”

They walked through a bamboo forest, away from the paved paths and city gates. 

“And what does Eunbaem do at the palace? Last time I saw you, you were an art thief.”

“Oh, I quit that job. Being queen is something I never tried before.” Yeosang said as humorous as a joke delivered poorly, then he sighed. “I am here to rule in the king’s name and protect the palace until I will be needed on the battlefield. And this is part of a much bigger story.”

“Oh, but I know everything.”

“Do you now?”

“Your brother and Yunho and I are a lot closer than you think. When both of them asked me to offer you my assistance at about the same time, I’ve gotten very curious.”

“Master Yunho despised me until not so long ago. I wonder why the sudden change?”

“The times, I believe. There is only so long you can hold grudges against someone.”

“You must be unaware of what I’ve done.”

“…I am aware. Sadly. Of all the incidents when you broke the law. But now you do not look like someone who has ever presented such vile behaviour. Your eyes and hair are glowing. Your shrines are always well kept and your stories have just the right amount of mystery.”

“And yet some of my shrines were destroyed.”

“By calamity. But I…I destroy my own shrines and rebuilt them while the people are asleep because I hate the way they were built. So you needn’t worry about yours collapsing because of a storm. You would not be here if people didn’t believe in you.” He said, raising his hand to the level of his lips, and softly blew out a violet flame which levitated in his palm. “And speaking of not believing…” He trailed on, as he passed the flame in Yeosang’s hands. “Geummae.” Seonghwa said, leaning his back against the bridge sill. “I have been onto his case ever since Yunho took him in…The sea spirits are not as aware of him as they should. But I am something of a guard, and my duty is to know everyone’s history like it’s my own. Geummae, however…has little to no history. He rejected us, saying he wants to be human again because his life was wrongfully was taken away from him.”

“Have you managed to track him at all?”

“He is not within the capital. That I know for sure. But before I go search for him…I need you to tell me what I should do with him. You, being the one who named him.”

“He is the same boy who was startled at the slightest of noises, then who climbed up the mountain to beg me to kill him because he knew he will fall into depravity…and the same one who threatened to kill _me_ unless I gave him his title…I’ve been weighing my options since the last time I saw him.”

“I heard about that from my master too. And I thought about your decision while I searched for you. I think you did well not giving him all of his titles…This system of ‘older spirits naming younger ones’ has been implemented fairly recently. I am not an adherent of this system. You and I were not given any titles when we were reborn. It’s very harmful, and it promotes abuse of power.”

“It does, but it also helps with controlling the numbers. They might obtain their titles far easier than us, but our advantage is that no one can take them from us. If we name a spirit, we can strip them of their titles.”

“Is this what you wish to do with Geummae?”

“Yes. But that would require another ritual. Luring him into it would be a challenge. He is also…my second priority.”

“The first one is…the king.” Seonghwa said, wrapping a thin lock of Yeosang’s hair around his finger, watching it dance in violet with the flame’s flicker. Although he and San had a transparent relationship, most times he avoided speaking about Eunbaem as if he was a national secret. He was most vocal about how much he loved looking after him and teaching him things, and how much he suffered when he had to punish him for the greater good. But when others asked about Eunbaem, he would always leave the curiosities unanswered.

Yeosang nodded.

“And when are you going to join him?”

“I’m waiting for…something to happen. Something more that I can use as a diversion. San’s prophetic dream said it was going to happen soon.”

Nodding, Seonghwa let his hair go, and held his hand above the flame in Yeosang’s hands. It was not a source of warmth at all, but it clung to his fingers like it was real. “I might join you.”

“I’d be glad if you did…When do you wish to go?”

“Well,” Seonghwa crossed his arms at his back, turning his back to him gracefully, and walking away. Yeosang followed him like a lost child. “I’ll let you in on a little secret…The Royal Army knows a new physician is to be joining them soon.”

“And that new physician…is you.”

“Correct. Whether we travel together to the camp or not, next time we meet will surely be there.”

“But is this story of yours fabricated? Are you truly a physician?”

“Yes. Centuries ago, Yunho and I wagered on something. We both wanted to become physicians, but we did not know for whom. I lost, so I became a physician for the humans, and he, for the spirits.”

When Seonghwa touched the bamboo stems, the image of them trembled like it was the surface of water, and while his fingers lingered, they scintillated bright violet. Yeosang observed his abilities, and the aesthetic behind them, trying to make sense of what he was doing. Sea spirits were gifted with illusory powers, which in human language translated as optical phenomena, like heat hazes, mirages, and anthelia.

“Before I leave…there’s one more thing I would like to share with you. It’s nothing too important.” He untied his eyepatch, revealing a bright lavender eye, like the fire Yeosang was holding. “You and the king remind me of my parents.” Yeosang inclined his head in question. “My father is a forest spirit. And my mother was a seamstress. They fell in love. And they had me. And when my mother died, she also became a spirit.” He put his eyepatch back as soon as he finished.

“Never heard about a story like this before. Nor of anyone born as a spirit. Are your parents still here with us?”

“They are. I see them often.” Seonghwa smiled in a way that only people like him could. The last time Yeosang smiled that way was when he lied on the rooftop of his parents’ house and he listened to their voices while they wrapped around the blanket he brought them.

He wished Seonghwa and his family all the good in the world, to which the sea spirit replied by laughing. “No need to be so polite with me.” Was what he said. With a last bow, he said his goodbyes and vanished behind a veil of fog, leaving Yeosang’s hands, face and clothes moist, and him in complete darkness.

When he turned around to make his way out of the forest, behind him sat a tiger with blue, glowing fur. He licked Yeosang’s palms, and rubbed his head against his robes while purring. Yeosang kneeled and embraced San tightly. “You should have revealed yourself. I’m sure he would have been happy to see you.” But San growled softly in protest.

He went unnoticed in the eyes of regular humans, and walked the streets of the city as freely as the wind itself. When the tiger walked past the guards, all they felt were shivers.

San lied down at the head of the bed, with Yeosang leaned against him for him to use as a pillow. His furs were not the smoothest, but they smelled like the mountain, like virgin soil, and pine trees.

Beneath his eyelids, Yeosang saw a shimmery white, and about six indistinguishable silhouettes as if through a layer of mist. In his rest, he frowned. He walked through the soft, flaky white as if through snow, but no matter how much he tried to approach the silhouettes, they were still blurry. 

Yeosang left the window open throughout the night. He covered himself with Hongjoong’s robe, and sometimes watched the sky for hours on end, counting the diminishing stars until he would have to change forms and start a new day. But that night he was troubled. He couldn’t tell when San left, but he assumed it was during the time when he was in his deepest meditative state. He saw nothing more, and he translated his frustrations in notes and lyrics in his notebook. A cold wind crept in, brushing past the nape of his neck, and flicking over the candlelight. When Yeosang stood up to close the window, he was met with the first snowfall.  


“There will be no morning assembly today.” She said. “Instead, I want everyone to take shelter inside.” She stood at the top of the stairs, tall and proud above the sea of baffled men. Her palanquin waited, and the parted mouths of the palace officials spoke more words than they did during court hearing. “May I ask why, Your Highness?” The secretary asked. But Yeori didn’t falter.

She carried her sword, and looked at the sky. Through the sound of her heartbeats, she counted the seconds until the drum started beating.

Not the drum that announced the commenting of the morning assembly.

But the drum from the capital border, that announced invasions and wars.

With her eyes wide, but calm on the skyline, she descended the stairs, and the men drew back like the tides. She lowered her eyes to the red palace gates. And the drums began.

Eyes were drawn to her in horror, then cowering downwards at the gravity of her announcement. They left their posts like migrating flocks of birds.

Snowflakes melted on her nose and lips, and grew into icicles on her hand.

The courtyard empty of people was an uncommon sight. It was much bigger, and it resembled a lowland in drought. The sky bore a warmer colour, and from buildings away, she could hear doors and windows slamming shut. She gently removed her footwear, placing them at the bottom of the stairs. Then gathered the hems of her robes into her fist and swiped the sword along the skirt, then ripping them apart until they were little over the knee.

“Open the gates! Do not shut them until I order so!”

Among the rustle of leaves and the whistle of the gravel against hooves, people screamed and ran as far away from the streets as their feet could take. Sounds of galloping and men roaring crept closer, and Yeori rose her chin, smiling superiorly when she saw them pulling the reins. She stared them all down as if charming them into crossing the palace gates. From that distance, Yeori counted fifteen. They desperately searched the walls and towers for any guards and bowmen.

“Oh, were you not expecting me to welcome you in?” Her heart grew warmer yet emptier when they stormed past the palace walls and in such a formation to attempt to seem threatening. Circling Yeori as if she did not know they were all hiding weapons. Gritting their teeth in premature victory as if she did not know already who was the first to die and who was the last. She was kind, and she met all of their eyes. Apologetically. In order. “You thought the palace would be defenceless because the Royal Army has been deployed? And I would be alone?” She mocked.

The man with a feathered hat dismounted his horse, unsheathed his sword like he wanted to cut the wind with it, and pointed towards Yeori’s womb. _There’s nothing in there_ , she was dangerously close to saying. But her countenance gave nothing away. Not when he pushed the tip of his sword against her navel, not when he suddenly twisted his blade. “Kneel.” He said. “Close your eyes, and lower your head. It will not hurt you, queen.”

Yeori laughed, and wrapped her fingers around the blade, pressing against the sharp edges until the man’s eyes deterred. The sword did not cut through her flesh. “Oh, but that’s not what you were ordered to do…You were ordered to ‘Hold her down and open her up like a pig. Search for the embryo and bring it to me. I shall have it packaged nicely and sent to the king. How else would we stop his disease from spreading?’” She quoted, the scabbard’s leather melting in her palm.

When the soldier attempted to pull away, Yeori crushed the tip of the sword in her palm, blowing the shards back into his face. While he screamed, staggered, and pushed the bits into his face when he wanted to protect himself, Yeori took her sword and swung it right across the man’s chest. Blood flew out of him in a clean arch, soaking within the queen’s robes. Before falling onto his knees, Yeori sunk her hand through his hair, and one last time she thrusted his own sword in his mouth, and out the back of his neck. “Shut the gates!” She roared, foreseeing the soldiers in the back cowering, dismounting their horses and attempting to flee.

She stepped back, at a safe distance, and not even she knew why. Their leader was shedding blood at their feet, pooling at the horses’ hooves, and they were as lost as cats without whiskers. Yeori raised her sword, at ready to lunge forward, but when the men at the front reached for theirs, a white, blue-flamed tiger materialised before them, and wrapped his fangs around one’s wrist, pulling him entirely off his horse, tossing and shredding his arm like his bones were rubber. With their attention diverted, Yeori unfolded her iron fan and threw it in an arch towards the other soldier’s neck, cutting through flesh like it cut threw paper. With the wind keeping her feet high off the ground, she kicked the man’s severed head right into his fellow’s face. Falling off his horse and screaming a wet scream like he was about to throw his viscera up, he crawled away and blindingly searched for his sword, when San thrusted his fangs inside the nape of his neck, until the only thing he could taste was his spinal fluid.

Yeori whipped her head around at the ring of a sword, met with a man much larger and thicker. His sword was a rabid animal, colliding and clashing their blades in an attempt to tire her. He gritted his teeth and looked over Yeori’s shoulder. Seeing the reflection of a second man in her opponent’s eye, she evaded his sword, and when he charged forward, his blade went through his comrade’s stomach. Blood gushed out of his mouth and nose. And that was when Yeori understood neither of them had nothing to lose at home. With only her heart clenching with remorse, her sword flashed in the sun and slit both their throats.

The courtyard filled with severed heads was an uncommon sight. It was much smaller, and it resembled a scorched lowland. The sky caught fire, and from miles away, she could hear the dying sighs of people who also had nothing to lose at home. Or maybe not even that.

The sword quivered in Yeori’s hand, she breathed as if asphyxiated, and her face was drenched in blood that was not hers. It burned like molten, reminding her of the pyre Yeosang had once been tossed in. Her fingers were numb with ache, her feet mangled with sword shards, and the creases red with blood. She dropped to her knees, and San rushed to her side before she collapsed to the ground. Men sobbed and begged, groaned their life away; cursed, twitched and convulsed. None of them prayed. But one. Before closing his eyes, he cried one tear, and that tear was inscribed with words of gratitude.

“How appalling,” Seonghwa said. He lied down on the tiled fence, as comfortably as on a bed of feathers, with a smoking pipe in his hand, and a black overcoat, like a cape, hanging from his shoulders. “Perhaps it’s time for you to shift.”

Yeori shook her head. “I can’t. Yet.”

“Y-Your Highness,” A voice Yeori didn’t recognise said. It was a tall man with a sword, and a dark, feathered, red hat. The head of the Royal Guards. Yeori watched him with empty eyes. “You fended them off. Alone.” He stretched his hand to help her stand, but she refused it. Her knees were weak, but they sustained her like a sole pillar sustaining a city.

One by one doors opened slowly, and the courtyard was soon filled with whispers and gasps and sounds of gagging. Before anyone else found Yeori through the crowd, the head of the guards shouted: “We bow before Her Majesty!” And the rest of the guards echoed. Then her maids. Then the ministers.

Yeori’s heart shattered. She curled her toes, although it hurt tremendously, and with her last remaining strength, she held her sword still. Pine green and wine robes, old men and ladies much younger than her, with their faces buried in the ground, sullying their hands for her. “Rise…” she whispered. She met eyes with Seonghwa and San, who smiled proudly and bowed their heads. Yeori shook her head in question. Everyone feared to approach her, and lowered their heads when they locked eyes. Until “My queen,” Lady Sookja said. Yeori turned to her. “Let us take care of you. You’re wounded. I noticed your feet.”

“No,” She said, wiping the blood from her cheek. “…Prepare me my horse.”

Lady Sookja acknowledged her order with a bow, then shook her head. “You cannot present yourself anywhere like that, Your Highness. I believe you need your feet if you wish to continue to fight.”

She yielded, and sheathed her sword.

*

Hongjoong was in his tent, away from all the commotion he excused himself from outside. Before him stood an empty sheet of paper, and in his hand, a trembling brush. Two layers of furs lied on his shoulder, but no attempts to keep himself warm have been fruitful thus far.

It was not the first letter he sent to Yeosang, but it was not on a consecutive day either, as he missed the day before. They were hit by a snowstorm just as they were ready to plan their next raid, and repairing, rebuilding, and reinforcing the security of the perimeter took priority.

Outside was finally starting to get dark after what seemed like weeks. Hongjoong woke up before the first string of daylight, but that evening he wished the strand would finally break. His eyes would unconsciously drop closed, and he would splash water into his face to maintain himself awake, determined to send at least a short message.

He dipped his brush in ink, and with a deep breath, he began writing Yeosang’s name. “Your Highness! —I have a message from the palace, Your Highness, please!” But all that came out of it were uneven drops of ink, like smeared stains. He rose from his chair so violently that it fell back onto the ground, and dropped the furred cloak.

Out, he met his guard, who was wheezing and panting like he was about to shake hands with death soon. His hat was uneven, and the feathers decorating it were disheveled. “The palace was seized, Your Highness, and- and the queen! They’ve captured the queen!”

The first thing Hongjoong did was to search the sky.


	12. A Warscape Under Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Only after a week and a half of raids, a rumour circled around between the camps and the neighbour villages that Hongjoong was given the title of the Red Viper, for his stealthiness on the battlefield, and the fluidity of his swordsmanship. "

A day and a night had passed, and no one knew anything about a response letter. Another written order was sent to the palace for a resupply of clothes and food, but even for that, the response was short, but affirmative.

The camp was built atop of a hill at the base of a mountain, guarded by dense trees on one side, then with a clear view over every other direction. The smoke coming from a small town could be seen from there, and the path crossing the hill was clear. The two entrances were fortified with logs crossed by spears and wooden spikes, four— two stacked over each other, at each end of the path, and the royal guards worked in shifts at every hour of the day and night. The first demoralising factor was the snowfall which happened the day before, but it was not one to last. The snowflakes were small and melted even before landing on any surface, and on the grass it looked no different than advection frost. Gone as soon as stepped on.

There have been no casualties on their side, and the number of injured men was low enough not to stir panic. No war prisoners had been taken yet, but the number of soldiers from Sungjo’s side had decreased every day. Since Hongjoong noticed the change in tactic, he ordered his men to report the number of fallen men.

Only after a week and a half of raids, a rumour circled around between the camps and the neighbour villages that Hongjoong was given the title of the Red Viper, for his stealthiness on the battlefield, and the fluidity of his swordsmanship. He saw the trajectory of his arrow moments before even loading it, and his hand in which he held the sword seemed to have a mind of his own when the enemy was behind him. He spun the spear in his hand like he could shift the masses of air, sawing off the hand which pointed a sword at him.

Mingi became known for his brutality and his unconventional means of fighting. He used his swords’ hilt to knock his opponent unconscious more than he used the blade, for when he did, he knew no mercy. He was not given a title, but he was best known as ‘the man who’s thickest armour is his own skin’. He obeyed Hongjoong like his life was not his own, but one command he could never heed was to turn his sword around. He refused to until severe punishment would change his mind. It had not happened yet.

Jongho was smaller, but men bigger than him were always weaker. During drills, he refused to fight or wrestle men who were not at least one head taller than him. He liked how quickly hoisting them up and tossing them back to the ground filled him up with adrenaline. He returned to camp usually one of the last in the row, leaving his comrades gasping in fear that he was about to die from blood loss. But the blood was never his. And those whose blood he shed were still alive.

Many of Sungjo’s apparent soldiers had not been trained in the arts for very long. They were forced into swordsmanship and obligated to wear an armour, and it was started to believe that the sole reason they were there was because they wanted a quick death. When the man in front of Jongho was dripping fear out of his face more than sweat, and he was much older, he would not kill him. He would hurt him enough to make him quiver.

It was the beginning of winter, with already no traces left of snow, and every day they returned from raids with their armours disheveled, hair damp, and fanning their faces with their hats. Collars opened for the winter air to slink in, and muscles sore and burning. They drank buckets of water at once, peeled the armours off each other like snakes shedding skin, and ran straight in the river to bathe. Except Hongjoong. Everyone, besides himself, forbade him to bathe in a river when a hot bath was already prepared for him.

As days went by, new faces appeared, bigger men with uncommon skills and techniques. A new wave of no fearing eyes. Like a diversion for the main act, but the one Hongjoong was looking for had never appeared. He heard Sungjo also had red hair and that he had a face worthy of demonic depiction. He never honoured Hongjoong with his presence.

The winter air cleansed the air of dry flesh before it reached the camp. Blood sprung from throats like sparks when forging iron, but when they fell, they fell gently, like in someone’s arms.

The royal armours turned around in shock when they heard Hongjoong’s painful scream. An arrow cut through his shoulder, and his sword dropped to the ground. He ran towards where the trees met the hill, towards an abandoned spear lying next to a dead man. He rolled onto the ground, clutching the spear into his hands, and thrusting it upwards right through the hollow in between the man’s ribs. Hongjoong grit his teeth and swung the spear along with the impaled man, tossing him to the ground, before stealing his sword to guard himself with when the second dark armour came. Their swords crossed, and as soon as they did, Hongjoong was made aware of the cut on his shoulder, and the blood running cold down his arm. He grit his teeth, growling with the strength he was exerting to keep the other’s sword at bay. He stepped back when the other stepped forward, his soles digging into the ground, and when his shoulder capitulated, his knee dropped, and the man towering over him was sent flying with an arrow to his temple.

Hongjoong whipped his head around in search for the bow which shot the arrow, cupping his hand around the wound on his shoulder. “Get up!” A feminine voice said. Hongjoong looked in her direction relieved and shocked at once. She rode a black, armoured horse, and held Hongjoong’s lost sword in her hand.

“Yeori-ah,” He said like it wasn’t a real name. She dismounted the horse, and out of her pocket she took a white cloth which she tied around Hongjoong’s shoulder. “They said you were gone and-”

“I know. I let them believe so.”

Her hair and eyes had returned to their dark colour. Around her forehead she wore a red headband, and a dark jacket with a leather belt around her waist. Her hair was tied in a topknot, like a man’s, but secured with a Phoenix hairpin to show her royal status. To her hip she wore the golden hilted sword Hongjoong gifted her, and a quiver’s strap went across her shoulder. Her face was refreshed and unwounded. “Are those…my clothes?”

“Yes. I already ruined a gown. I will not ruin another— Which way is the camp?”

“You are not taking me back.”

“You’re wounded. You cannot even hold a sword.”

“Then hand me your bow and I will cover you. I refuse to go back before Sungjo’s men retreat.”

Yeori agreed right away, taking Hongjoong’s sword in her right hand, and her own, in her left. She ran back from the sea of trees that shielded them, immediately spotted by men in both armours. Yeori saw their mouths shaping in questions about why a woman would be there, but their hands turned to stone when eyes that shifted to blue crashed into them like calamity. She fought like she was the one who sought escape, like it was her family who was held captive, and the honour of the army lied in her hands alone. Hongjoong’s arrows flew past her head with only their feathered fletching to caress her cheek, and not once did she flinch. She knew an arrow aimed by Hongjoong would never harm her. Men fell down like poisoned birds in a flock, with their heads impaled by swords and chests transfixed by blades. They were pulled out of their bodies with intestines coiled around them, and coated in thick fluids. She plundered wounded and dead names in her hands like her honour were physical rewards. When in reality, after each man fell bleeding at her feet, she searched for Hongjoong.

Hongjoong, who swordless swam through the ocean of blades to pluck arrows, who sometimes collected an entire eyeball at its tip, but the king flicked it off and sent it flying.

They regathered at the gates of the camp riding the same horse, with soldiers aligned on each side, waiting for the king and his verdict. He jumped down from the horse, took steps back to better look at Yeori. She followed, holding his sheathed sword in her hands. Her appearance remained clean and courteous after hours of exertion, and her voice was spring-serene after hundreds of war cries. Hongjoong’s sword was still in her hands, and when she kneeled to the ground, she did so smoothly. “I left my post at the palace without your order. And for that, I ask that you forgive me, Your Great Highness. I had not received your letter, and I- I worried.”

Hongjoong smiled. “First. You needn’t kneel. Rise.” Yeori heeded, and when she rose to her feet, her exhaustion exuded through a twitch of an eye. “Why did I hear you have gotten captured, then?”

“Sungjo sent men to seize the palace, as they knew its defences were weak. But I ordered everyone to safety and I fended them off. No one was harmed.”

The Royal Army general scoffed. A solid man, like an iron statue. The stubble on his face was as sharp as spikes, and his voice always came in roars. “What do you mean ‘you’? A woman alone against trained soldiers?”

“Yes. There were more at the other gates. I knew that in case I was going to join His Highness here, I needed all the manpower available at the palace to defend it in my absence. So this time…I took them all out on my own. It was me they were after, in the end.”

“Were they ordered to have you murdered?” Hongjoong asked.

“That, and to have them bring Sungjo the baby. No matter how small.”

A sheer, one-second lasting panic washed over Hongjoong, until reality resettled in his heart. “…I see. But he is unharmed.”

“Yes.”

“Who taught you swordsmanship?” The general asked.

“I’ve had several instructors, general, which is why you might observe a slight difference in my technique and stance. And I have been practising for…years.” 

“Have you no father? No one would allow that.”

“…I’ve never had a man deny me anything, general. That feeling is unfamiliar to me. And I would like it to remain unfamiliar.”

Tired and sore, Hongjoong sighed. “You’ve suddenly gained a lot of nerve, general. Is that how you speak to your queen?”

“A queen is in no way meant to dress like a man and carry a sword.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, but Yeori interfered. “It’s alright.” She smiled at him. “His words will not dismay me. And I am also not afraid to challenge anyone.” Then she approached him, and returned him his sword. “I’ve also brought with me the physician you requested. He should have a look at your wound.”

Hongjoong was ready to refuse, but towards the end of the sentence, he heard Yeosang’s voice coming forward, and he understood there was something more to it. “I will. In a moment. But before we go…Know that you should not tolerate anything you do not wish to tolerate. We are on the same side, and if it is in someone’s heart not to accept that, then let them be. However, should anyone ever have the courage to conspire against you…You do not need my order to punish them. Force them into submission however you will.”

Yeori swallowed. She nodded. There had not been a lesson for her behaviour when in a man’s clothes and a sword to her hip either.

Displeased with the outcome, the general threw his helmet away and returned to his tent. Hongjoong gave the order to disperse and rest, and the others to start preparing the meals.

Inside his tent, Yeori undid the bind around Hongjoong’s arm, and helped him out of his many layers of clothing and armour. There was no way for Yeori to say that without offending him, so she did not, but she noticed how Hongjoong had never smelled that manly. She kept the observation to herself, and went to fill a basin of water. “How long have you been in this form for?”

“…Soon before finding you. I will let them all acknowledge my presence here, then I will change between the bodies…I’m getting weary, you know.”

“When in this form?”

“Not just the form, but the change of appearance.”

“…Ah. Right.”

“Your Highnesses?” A third voice said, coming from the entrance of the tent. Yeori recognised it with a bright smile, which left Hongjoong baffled.

“You may.” She replied.

The man who entered wore black, luxurious fabrics, and the beads hanging from his hat shone like black pearls. An eyepatch rested over his eye, and his features were fine and sculpted. “You said he’s a physician…” Hongjoong said to Yeori. Offended more than suspicious.

“And I am.” He said, kneeling besides them, taking off his hat, then his eyepatch. “I am also a spirit.” And the concealed eye was lilac bright.

“Oh.” Was all Hongjoong could say. He was too suspicious to be enthusiastic.

“My name is Seonghwa. Park Seonghwa, if you wish for my full human name. I don’t have another name as a title, so by all means use this one from now on.” His voice was calm and secretive. But soothing nonetheless. “May I have a look at your shoulder?” Hongjoong nodded. Seonghwa pulled the white fabric off and frowned. “My, Your Highness, I thought this was just a cut.”

“Is it not?”

“…It’s bigger than a ‘just a cut.’ I’m surprised you were able to lift a sword at all after this. Eunbaem, where do you keep the clean bandages?”

Yeori said nothing, and went out to bring them. In her absence, Hongjoong studied the new spirit, and did not cease even when they met eyes. “Why are you glaring at me? Is it because you do not trust me yet?”

“…I feel like I have no choice.”

Seonghwa laughed. “I mean no harm. I was sent here to hunt for Geummae. And to protect Eunbaem from him.”

“He is here, then.”

“He might as well be. We know what he is after. I’ve been sensing some strange energies on our way here, so my instincts might be right after all.”

“Are you truly a physician?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa gently cleaned his wound. He did not allow Hongjoong to look at it.

“And how well do you know Eunbaem?”

“Well…Yunho and I go a long way back. And San and I have been friends two years after Goryeo’s founding.”

“The year 920?”

“Yes. We are looking forward to celebrating a millennia together. It was only natural that I would hear about Eunbaem. But…I have not met him personally up until a few days ago. I know all there is to know about him from San and Yunho, however.”

“…I see.”

“I will not intervene. Worry not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. You both are safe with me.”

Hongjoong preferred to act like he knew nothing, although he did. 

Seonghwa was summoned to the infirmary as soon as he finished treating Hongjoong’s wound. His casual manner of speaking to Eunbaem offended the king, but by the time he had to leave, he felt like Seonghwa became someone whom he could talk to with no remorse. He told Hongjoong more about spirits and their principles and laws more than Yeosang told him in months. And they even smiled at each other. When Yeori was avoidant, Seonghwa answered the question in her stead.

“Can I tell you something?” Hongjoong asked. He was lying down, facing the ceiling. Minutes before, when every other tent went dark and quiet, Yeori shifted forms, and the spirit sat down exhausted on the desk chair. He read the tiredness on Yeosang’s face, but his heart was too equivocal to be able to say anything. His body lied towards his regular edge of the bed, and his arm was opened in case he wanted to join him.

“Of course.” Yeosang rasped. He rubbed his eyes, and after long moments of collecting himself, he went and dropped down next to Hongjoong, with his head on his chest.

“Sungjo is not fighting.”

“I know. I have not seen him. Maybe he is not even here. Maybe there is a tactic. Maybe he is doing what you should have been doing. Continue to be a strategist and nothing more.”

“Well I never liked it when people expect things from me.”

“Ah, I know…Would you like me to do anything about this matter?”

“…Not yet. I’d wait one more day. I have a feeling there is a strategy in him changing the men every day. You would think I started recognising them after so long. But I do not.”

“How many did you kill?”

“I don’t know. I don’t look back after they fall to the ground. Wounded or dead, it’s the same to me. I know that the wounds I inflict are not easy to heal from.”

Yeosang laughed quietly. “Ah, I missed you and your remarks.”

“And I, you.” Hongjoong’s heart beat stronger when he hugged him. “I feel stronger than ever now that you’re here. It did not feel like we were separated for that long.”

“I know…Now that it’s over…it feels like less had passed.”

“It does…Is the palace safe?”

“Yes. I left mirror talismans hidden around every corner. I can always see what the situation there is. And if something will happen, I can always fly back.”

Hongjoong sighed like he wanted to say a lot more, but his overwhelmed heart had not allowed him. “I can’t imagine what I would have done…had you not been with me.”

  
*

Nights passed with Seonghwa guarding the camp at night, from high up the hill, and sometimes Yeosang, when Hongjoong did not request his presence at night. Nights for the king were the longest. He fell asleep bloody and sweaty, breathing as if his lungs were quicksand pits, and his eyes empty. It was only when it was dark when he was difficult, because when morning came, he was the first one to prepare. Or when he didn’t, he went for a quick morning run. Barefoot and shirtless. His hair wild in the wind. “Is he not going to exhaust himself?” Seonghwa asked Yeosang genuinely concerned, and all the latter could do was shrug. “No one can stop him.” He said, and flew down.

As days passed, Seonghwa became more interested in Hongjoong. He wondered why Yeosang looked at the king the way he did, and what was it that sparked their passion for each other. With Yeori, Hongjoong was quiet, and looked at her like a much wiser and stronger older sister. He defended her with no hesitation, and during battle, she shielded him with no fear of death. She never returned harmed. Only with her shirt ripped at the sleeves, which she sewed back right away. Hongjoong repeatedly tried to persuade her into wearing an armour, but she refused every time. And on the other hand, with Yeosang, Hongjoong became less obedient. Although Yeosang said no to him many times, Hongjoong had not listened. With all this, he leaned all of his weight in his arms, and when they were alone, he clung to him and pressed his face into his chest. As soon as they were away from everyone’s eyes, he always searched for Yeosang’s hand.

Hongjoong accepted Seonghwa’s presence more and more as days progressed. He saw the world differently than Yeosang, and was a lot more open about his life as a spirit. He had the gift of relating his dreams as if they were real experiences, which made Hongjoong’s arm hair perk up when he listened. He’s learned that Seonghwa saw objects differently in his right eye than he saw in his left, in terms of shape and colour and aura. Since then, he did not wait for Seonghwa to be summoned to his tent to have a look at his wounds. Instead, he rushed to the infirmary himself. And long after his wounds were tended to, he did not leave. He spent his late nights and sometimes evenings talking to him. And not once did Yeosang go to overhear what about. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa with curious eyes, nodding, and asking additional questions. And only once he saw him smile. Seonghwa secretly gave Hongjoong his meals even before Yeosang had time to do so. And long after Yeosang shifted and finished preparing for the next day did Hongjoong come back as if nothing happened.

“What are you reading?” Hongjoong asked. He kicked his boots off, wrapped himself in his sleeping clothes, and dropped himself next to Yeosang, who was too concentrated on the book above him, which appeared to be a medical one. Hongjoong waited, then suddenly, when Yeosang’s guard was at its lowest, he stole the book and shoved it underneath the mattress. “You’re ignoring me.”

He said that to provoke Yeosang, as he would usually roll his eyes, or smile, or ask to be given the book back. He would react, and then they would bicker, and talk again. Hongjoong opened his mouth to ask why he was so quiet, but right then, he felt something poking his liver from the inside. “We didn’t talk much today. Tell me what’s wrong?”

“…I wonder why we didn’t talk.” Yeosang turned around, leaning his head on his arm. He was covered up to his hips. The robe was untied around him, and his shoulder was half uncovered and smooth.

Hongjoong outlined his neck and shoulder with his eyes, his tongue itching to kiss his skin. “I had no ill intention behind that, you know…I thought you liked it when I’m interested in your kind.” He said, and waited. When he received no response, he continued. “He told me a lot about spirits. It was like a long story. And every day I had to leave. When we would come back, I would return to where he left off so he could tell me more. He told me about forest and lowland spirits. And he also said I smell like a forest spirit.”

“I see.”

“You’re not worrying, are you?”

“No.”

“Look at me? I don’t see your face this close very often these days.”

With a low sigh, Yeosang turned around, covering himself up to the neck. “What else did he tell you?”

“…About him and Master Yunho. And about how your abilities work.” He dragged the blanket over himself and scooted closer to Yeosang. “I didn’t ask him about you. Don’t worry. I know you would not have wanted me to.”

Yeosang nodded. “Thank you.” Then let his eyes fall closed.

Hongjoong’s arms found his waist underneath the covers, and they wandered. From his upper back to his chest to his collarbones. Noticing Yeosang was not in the mood, he retracted his hand, and caressed him with his eyes instead. “I feel like you don’t like it when I want to learn more about your kind.”

“I have nothing against anything you want to learn about, as long as it’s not…invasive.”

“Is this why you were upset? You thought I asked about your past?”

Yeosang nodded.

“How much harder do I need to try for you to fully trust me?”

“I do trust you, but I know you become impulsive when you are denied the things you want or when someone disagrees with you. This is what worries me.”

“I’m not impulsive.”

“…Alright.” Yeosang said. His glacial eyes bled into Hongjoong’s. The king froze.

*  


The tension between the two lasted for two days, but never while they fought. Yeosang always tended to Hongjoong’s armour first, then his meals, and while the others smiled and expressed how envious they were, Hongjoong’s stomach churned. There was no good way of explaining that he would rather have Yeosang leave him to starve and speak to him, than take care of him and never even look his way.

It happened during dinner, when they were in their safe group and Yeosang could comfortably walk around in his body. 

“Your Highness, would you like to see…a hellion?” Seonghwa asked. Unsolicited.

That day Seonghwa was late to his post for reasons humans found invalid.

Hongjoong looked up from his plate, his eyes wide open to Seonghwa’s request. He nodded excitedly. “I would,” he said as soon as he swallowed his food.

“Absolutely not.” Yeosang intervened, passing his plate to Mingi once he finished his.

“Why not?” Seonghwa and Hongjoong asked at once.

“You’re putting a human in front of a hellion, when you know how vulnerable they are in front of them.”

“I will only quell it. I would never dare to expose His Highness to those dark energies. I will draw them all to me.”

Yeosang soughed, then looked back at Hongjoong. “Since when do you want to see a hellion?”

Hongjoong filled his cup with tea, took a short sip, and disgust twisted his face when the tea was not hot enough. “Since I saw what they did to you. You know how interested I am in the world of spirits.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“…And we both know how you treat my questions. I want to see a hellion, and I _will_ go and see it.”

“Nothing bad will happen to him, Eunbaem.” Seonghwa said, smiling. “I have both yours and San’s seals on me, and you know what that means…if I ever betray you, I will be stripped of my titles.”

Yeosang shook his head in disbelief, then gathered all the empty dishes and took them to the basin where the maids would wash them.

“It’s alright,” Hongjoong mumbled. “He just worries about me more than usual.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa nodded, taking Hongjoong’s cold teacup, and drank it entirely. “Are His Highness and Eunbaem close friends, then?” The sea spirit asked, putting on his clueless act. Yeosang rolled his eyes as he joined them back at the table.

“Um,” Hongjoong searched for an answer in Yeosang’s eyes, but he was met with a needle-sharp glare, glowing eyes, and a clenched fist. 

“Why is it taking you so long to answer?”

“Because you would take great offence if I called you a friend.”

Metaphorically, Yeosang’s jaw dropped. “Were you just about to call me a friend?”

“You’ve never told me what to call you.”

“A-Are you mocking me?”

“Yes.” With a victorious grin, Hongjoong clutched Yeosang’s hand in between his, pressing butterfly kisses on his fingers. “You’re the better half of my soul and heart.” He confessed as if they were alone at the table. “You know this, right?”

Yeosang nodded, embarrassment flooding his cheeks in pink.

“Good.” Hongjoong said, putting his hand down in the same manner he set his cup down earlier. “Now may I go see the hellions?”

And everyone at that table, except Yeosang, got a good laugh out of that. Hongjoong had the most endearing laughter Yeosang’s ever heard, and he did not think he was capable enough to make him laugh as much as he wanted. Opposite to him, Hongjoong looked at him with guilt, at how sweetly his cheeks bloomed, and how quickly the colour faded. His shoulders fell and his mouth was left agape. “You tricked me.” The spirit said in a pitiful tone.

“I did, but what I said was the absolute truth.”

“I’m not sure I believe that anymore.” Yeosang paused. “If you take your guards with you…you may go.” Then he turned to Seonghwa, and his eyes glowed threateningly. “And you. If he comes back hurt-”

“You will have my head. I know, I know. I will protect him with my life.”

From there, Yeosang dropped the subject, folding his sleeves and rolling them up. He cleared the table before telling the maids to do so. He piled the last remaining dishes onto a wooden tray and went out. 

Since then he was nowhere to be found. Hongjoong scrutinised the camp while Mingi and Jongho were getting ready to join, but he had not shown up. “Have I offended him?” Hongjoong asked Seonghwa. It was the most open question he’s ever directed at him.

“…You worry about him a lot, don’t you?”

Hongjoong walked away.

Where Seonghwa took them was not far from the camp. Still at the mountain’s base, where snow gathered more than in other places. In his hand, Seonghwa held a circular, flat piece of iron, like a coin. He flipped it, spinning at a quick pace, and drawing a permanent sphere into the air. It remained levitating above his hand and occasionally made a sound like tapping against a glass bell.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘hellion’ before. What does that mean?” Jongho asked, his eyes on the strands of black matter gathering around the iron piece.

“My favourite ways of explaining what that means is ‘energy waste’. Although the elders disagree with me. If a human dies with a heavy heart, overcome by vengeance or hatred, then their souls will take longer to reach us. Or they don’t reach us at all. If they’re too heavy, then they are very likely to break. And when they break, all that dark energy contained inside will become easier to spread among both humans and spirits. Like a disease.”

“And…how does it manifest? This disease.”

“From intrusive thoughts to suddenly murder someone, to a range of mental disorders.”

“And is there any way to stop them from breaking, and hellions from spreading?”

“I hope there isn’t, because then I won’t have any research material. And I will have nothing to do.”

“You’re not afraid of them at all?”

“No. I spent too much time in their presence for them to scare me.”

The clinking sounds guided them to the top of the hill with a view to a groove of torn trees, trunks shredded like an animal’s flesh, and leaves spread like ashes. Underneath the pile of logs lied a black, skeletal creature with the jaw of a leopard, and teeth sharp as described in myths. Its eyes were yellow and beady, like a bird’s, and the sounds emanating from its mouth were sharp, ear-piercing as those of hawks. A black, foggy matter sprung out of the creature’s joints and mouth. “Oh, you sorry little thing.” Seonghwa cooed, taking steps back to gain momentum, then jumped down, inches away from the creature’s claws. The hellion hissed and dug its claws further into the ground, bearing its teeth and biting the air that travelled around Seonghwa’s feet. It fully opened its jaw, the hunger in him screeching louder than his mouth. Seonghwa clenched his teeth and kicked the hellion in the jaw. “So loud.” Then he turned around to the other three who accompanied him. He lifted his hand in the air, a mauve mist enveloping his hand, and from the nothing around him, he built a walking path to the top of the hill to where he stood. “Come here. He won’t hurt you.” He said. While Jongho and Mingi’s initial reactions were to step back, Hongjoong nodded and trustfully took a first step. The surface was thicker than the one Yeosang built for him when he first walked the air, and slipperier too.

“His eyes…I’ve seen them before.” Mingi pointed out. He hardly ever sounded so grave.

Seonghwa smiled at him. “Care to tell me where?”

“I don’t…know. It feels like a memory my mind is trying to repress. Like I am about to share something dangerous.”

“I agree.” Jongho said. “I have a name on the tip of my tongue, but it tells me that if I say it, I will unleash something bad.”

“Geummae.” Hongjoong said quietly, stepping closer to the hellion.

“Is that…the boy Master Yunho looked after? The one who died drowning?”

“It is.” Seonghwa confirmed. The iron piece landed in his hand, then he crushed it, and poured the ashen dust over the hellion. “I will show you how to deal with creatures like those. The first thing you need to know is that they’re not very smart. They cannot sense fear, but they can read it. Should you ever encounter a hellion as foolish as this one, be still. Even if your heart is about to drop and you want to scream, do not move. It will confuse them. Or you whistle, like His Highness did.”

“You saw one before and you didn’t tell us?” Mingi asked.

“I didn’t know what it was. I woke up paralysed one night. I thought it was part of my dream.”

“So what you’re saying is that…if I see a demon…I sit there and I whistle.”

“Yes. And if that doesn’t work,” Seonghwa went on, unsheathing Mingi’s sword quickly and smoothly, and swinging it across the hellion’s eyes. The creature thrashed its head back and forth, smashing its own head against the ground, the colour of their eyes drained out like sand particles. “You cut their eyes.” Out of his collar he took a small bottle with a long neck, leaning it down for the hellion to pour itself inside. The bottle shook in Seonghwa’s hand, with the black dust hitting every wall, giving the illusion of a storm. “Neither of you have flinched once. I’m impressed.”

“We had raids everyday for the past weeks. We saw more viscera in one day than at a slaughterhouse in one shift. This fellow was the only thing that’s peaked my attention since we left the palace.” Mingi said with no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

“Well then I’ll be sure to invite you again.” Said Seonghwa, already on his way back to the mist bridge. “I’ve noticed you three stick together. I suppose there are more layers to your relationship than king and guards.”

“I never liked it when guards were assigned to me. Once, I had all of them aligned in a row, and I threatened all of them individually. I drew my sword, and I swung it close to their faces. These two were the only ones who did not flinch. Not once. And ever since we’ve created a game in which we startle each other.”

“And who startled the most?”

They all looked at each other, each doubting that the other two knew the exact number of wins and loses. “…I’d say we all did at least once.”

“His Lordship Eunbaem is very good at startling us.” Jongho said, excitedly.

“No, he’s just good at startling _you_. I wonder why.” Mingi teased him, averting his eyes.

But Mingi’s seemingly innocent remark made Jongho cautious of his next words. Hongjoong and Seonghwa walked in front of them, and his hands were still relaxed at his sides. “N-No reason why.”

Hongjoong bit back a smile. He knew.

“Oh, but since you brought the subject of him up,” Mingi continued. “The way His Lordship fights is very distracting. His every move is perfectly choreographed. It’s like he’s performing a sword dance instead of slitting someone’s gut.”

“I agree. He makes the line between gentle and brutal appear very thin. He always returns from battle unharmed.”

“…But he becomes unreachable. You can tell how much he despises being here. I bet he could take all of our heads with a single swing of his fan, but when it’s time to leave, he appears so fearful.”

“Then I wonder why he did not wait for us at the palace.”

Hongjoong listened to them talk. He knew answers to most of their concerns, but for the sake of the questions he did not know how to respond to, he said nothing. They made valid points, and it made Hongjoong happy that they were so observant.

“I say this not as a companion, but as a spirit in regards to another spirit: Please observe and study our species more. You seem to think us invincible. You seem to think we are weapons. Indestructible, and filled with spells.” Seonghwa said as if reciting a poem, and the other three listened patiently, with only Hongjoong taking full offence. Although turned around, Seonghwa felt his frown scarring his back, but he smiled. “We were not made to fight. Nor to learn how to. We were made to preserve the Earth, and to help the humans into discovering things and expanding sciences. It is not uncommon for nature spirits to vanish at the sight of war, as that is not where we belong. By Eunbaem being here alone you should understand the burden on his shoulders. How hard it is for him to be against and kill the people he was taught to love.”

From there, everyone fell quiet with guilt. They were close to the camp, and there everything seemed to be in order. By the first gate, Hongjoong noticed small, purple flowers growing in little bouquets. Without thinking twice, he picked the one in full bloom, and caught up with the others. Seonghwa excused himself and went to the physicians’ tent to store the little bottle, while the others went in search for Yeosang.

“I wanted to ask this there, but I didn’t know if it was appropriate.” Hongjoong brought up. “But Eunbaem said you may call him by his real name, yet you two never do. How so?”

Mingi and Jongho looked at each other shortly, as if passing the question to each other. In the end, Jongho said: “I know he said we’re friends…but you are the only person whom he is so close to. And the only person to call him that…I could not.”

“It’s like…” Mingi thought. “I would not like it if my friend called my lover the same way I called them.”

Jongho held his breath. Hongjoong sighed his embarrassment out. “…Let’s look for him.”

They walked across the camp, searching the tents Yeosang frequented, but he was nowhere around there. On the other side of the camp, beneath a sparse line of pine trees, sat a bright robe.

He was by the river, with a pile of bloodstained shirts in a basket next to him, persistently scrubbing in circular movements a stain too bright to be blood. His nose twitched like a rabbit’s, and his eyebrows were frowned like it was the first time they did so. Hongjoong twirled the little flower in his hand behind his back, overthrown by a form of calm that he found unfit for that time. It was that image of him alone that Hongjoong needed to agree with what Seonghwa had said. Thin pieces of Yeosang’s hair tickled his cheeks, and the sun kissed his head and turned it to gold. Yeosang lifted his eyes, and when they landed on the red of Hongjoong’s hair, they smiled, and the frown on his face softened. “You first.” Mingi said, pushing Hongjoong. He liked testing his title as the personal guard of the king like that. “He’s looking at you.” 

Hongjoong descended the hill in large, confident steps, like no snow beneath his feet was slippery, and no steepness could make him fall. He carried himself like a nature spirit would.

“Just you?”

Hongjoong looked over his shoulder. Mingi and Jongho were flinging their arms into the air, like flags, gesturing for him to turn around and pretend they were not even there. “…I believe they want us to be alone.”

“We’re alone too much sometimes.” 

“What if I left, then?”

“No. Stay.” Yeosang chuckled, and gently tugged on his hand. “So? Have you seen the hellion?”

Hongjoong hummed in affirmation. He tucked Yeosang’s hair back behind his ear, then secured it with the purple flower. Feeling something cold against his cheek, Yeosang touched it. “What’s this?”

“I just saw it. And I picked it for you.”

“Ah, I see.” Yeosang smiled, folding the shirt twice and putting back to its pile. He reached to pick another one, but sighed relieved when he noticed he was done. “And what— Hongjoong?” His voice rose significantly in shock, seeing the king kneel on the ground, then leaning his head low until his forehead met the snow. “Stand up, what are you doing-”

“I’ve been taking you for granted.” He said. “Forgive me.”

Yeosang wiped his hands against his robe, then pushed Hongjoong back up by his shoulder wiping the melted snow off his face. “You never did. What’s gotten into you?”

“No, I have. I should not have been treating you like a human.”

“But I prefer it this way.”

“Maybe, but this is no excuse for me to be disrespectful. I know you and I are…very close, but that was no reason for me to stop honouring you and pay my respects for you. Seonghwa reminded me. And I realised he was right. I’m sorry.”

“…I understand, but you needn’t kowtow at my feet.”

“I should. Because you are above me-” Yeosang leaned the pad of his finger against Hongjoong’s lips. They were not as plush as they usually were. But they were never rough enough for Yeosang to refuse to kiss.

“I am not. Not when you and I are like this. Yes, we are different, but we are not above each other. I won’t forbid you to pay your respects…but there’s no reason for you to pray to me or to kneel.”

Hongjoong wanted to disagree, but he did not know which way was best for him to express that. He took the basket from Yeosang’s hands and carried it, walking back to the camp. Mingi and Jongho were not there to spy anymore.

The walk was too short for Hongjoong to think about what to say. “I really don’t want to be separated from you.” So he chose the most obvious. Because when Hongjoong expressed his worry, Yeosang had a divine talent of making his worries fly away as easily as blowing a dandelion’s puff.

“I don’t either. I’ve only just gotten you back. But there should be no reason for us not to stay together.”

“I also really…I’m not sure how to say this…I love that it’s you who sees me fight. I like that you can watch me do well. I feel like I could take ten men at once when you look at me. When I know you have my back.”

“Why, you sound like someone who hasn’t been complimented in…How long have we been separated again?”

“Ah, you’re cruel.”

Yeosang nudged him, a bit too hard. He laughed, watching Hongjoong trip against his own feet. Then he nudged Yeosang harder, making him lose his balance. “I like it when I have the chance to see you do well too. There hasn’t been a time when I wasn’t proud of you.”

“Am I still your joy and pride, then?”

“…Nothing less than that.”


	13. Nothing Gold Will Remain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve struggled with answering that myself…We are, but we aren’t. We’ve never disagreed. We’ve never fought over who should come forward.”

News travelled to enemy camp that a woman who claimed to be the queen had joined the troops. Their first response was a change of tactic which everyone worried about, except Yeori. Both the general and Yeori smiled as if their plan was unravelling accordingly, but the smug expression on _his_ face changed when he saw the queen’s perpetual smile. Hongjoong wanted to worry. ‘Let them come at me’, he remembered.

Yeori and Hongjoong fought tirelessly back to back. Their eyes at the nape of their necks were always onto each other. If there was a record of war victims at their wrist, their number would be even. Blood spluttered onto their shirts and armours as if they were under a red rain. The forest became a nest of white noise of blades clashes, screams, and groans.

It was a wave of Sungjo’s bowmen on horseback that dissipated their formation. Hongjoong ordered them to fall back, and the general spread the command. The soldiers gathered around Hongjoong to protect him, intercalating shields with spears as they retreated, until Hongjoong made it to safety. And as he did, he did not look back. His adrenaline blinded his senses, but he trusted Yeori was behind him. But nausea overcame him when he saw he was alone besides Mingi. At the edge of the formation, Jongho threw a stray spear right through a bowman’s eye, and when he fell from his horse, his head remained at the head of the spear, fluids falling down on the length of the blade. Then he ran to pick his bow. With their attention diverted, Mingi followed, screaming at Hongjoong to return to the camp. At the hilltop, Hongjoong saw Seonghwa, the most panicked he’s ever been, searching for Yeori.

What no one knew was that the king’s soldiers were to be taken hostages. With a loaded arrow pinching at her fingers, she followed the two horses, and the two men being dragged like cargo after them. She was alone, the farthest she’s ever been from the camp. She heard both Hongjoong and the general, already preparing her words of forgiveness instead of obeying the order. With the wind carrying her feet, she was as fast as the horses. Knowing she would not be able to cut through the rope that dragged them alone, she had no choice but to shoot the horses. She prayed, and launched her arrow. The weight of the horses crushed the soldiers underneath them, blowing the air out of their lungs. “Go! Run!” She screamed, tossing one of them her short sword. She took her arrows back and with the heaviest heart, put both horses out of their misery, and impaled Sungjo’s men in the mouth with their own swords.

“Your Highness!” Her soldier said. Only one of them was left. The smaller, weaponless one. He stood there, without taking cover, as if he had grown roots. Yeori dragged him after her by his arm, back through a path in the forest. She panted softly, but no muscle rippled with soreness.

“Did I not tell you to run? Are you mad?”

“I have no weapon to protect myself with, Your Highness.”

Yeori eyed him with a hiss, and the man staggered back, nearly tripping against a pebble. She might have revealed her blue eyes. She didn’t know.

Hearing voices from far away, she held her steps and took cover behind a thick tree. Moments passed where she was still until the voices faded in the opposite direction. “I don’t-” She gasped, feeling an arm grasp the nape of her neck, and bashing her face against the tree trunk. She bled from her forehead and nose, dropping to her knees. When she opened her eyes, she was met with the filthy sole of the man’s boot in her face, kicking her down. And once more when she struggled to stand up. Her fangs sharpened in her mouth, her eyes were cracked open. The man unsheathed her sword and stomped his boot onto her stomach, pressing and pressing. “You’re not bearing a child. I know you aren’t.”

Yeori turned her head to the side and coughed out the blood in her mouth. “You’ll regret this. Please. Please, don’t do this, I don’t want to hurt you.” She pleaded, although her claws were growing and sharpening. 

*

Hongjoong’s men were on standby at the entrance to the camp. The one who last saw Yeori and returned with her short sword begged the king to deploy a number of troops to rescue her. But Hongjoong put all the faith of the world on her, halting his order.

His heart was tight in his chest, urging to implode.

That night they were going to have to deal with the funerals of three men. His mind was divided.

The sun descended quicker the more Hongjoong’s anxiety grew. He remained unblinking. Voices were speaking to him in a foreign language. The twilight casted the illusion of a horse galloping, and a person with golden hair riding it.

“Let us go search for Her Highness. Please.” Jongho begged, but Hongjoong failed to hear him.

He turned his back to his people and went to his tent to put Yeori’s sword to safety. During his short time alone, he stared at the weapon, replaying the same scene in mind. The one he was shared through sobs and gasps. He imagined Yeori bleeding. She had never bled before. Not enough for her to drop to one knee. She made battles look like an artistic performance.

Hongjoong tried to think about who that man must have been. Who, even after it was so clear who their enemy was, had the audacity to turn against the royal family. ‘Let them come at me’ Yeosang’s voice whispered in his ear, making him shiver. In the next second, the general’s face appeared in his mind. He smirked.

“I see her! The queen! She’s back!”

Hongjoong rushed to where the shouts and cheers erupted, dodging men away. He exhaled in relief, wanting to run and greet Yeori. She drew closer, riding a horse Hongjoong did not recognise. Galloping at full speed up the hill, Hongjoong saw or someone on the ground, with their hands tied and wrapped around the horse’s saddle. Hongjoong thought it was a war prisoner Yeori had taken, but once they made it to the camp, he recognised the man’s armour as one of his own. Yeori parted the sea of soldiers as she entered the camp, strands of her hair peeking out from underneath her headband, her once smooth cheeks now cut and bruised. She dismounted her horse, pulling her robe over her almost bare shoulders. She removed her headband, her hair raining dark on her shoulders, and adjusted her sword to her hip.

“Yeori-ah,” Hongjoong called, his fists clenched “What happened? Where were you?”

Yeori gave him the gentlest smile she could offer. Hongjoong recognised that smile as the one his mother used to show him when she was furious, but did not want to release her anger on him. When she fully turned around for Hongjoong to see her, he noticed the cut on her stomach.

She walked over to the man on the floor and kicked him awake. His face was mutilated, blood pouring out his every orifice and pore, his nose was fractured, his lower lip was the size of a plum, and so was the bruise on his eyelid. The rope around his wrists had cut so deep into his skin, that his hands have become blue from blood loss, and the rope was as red as the flesh beneath. Yeori untied the man’s hands and dragged him to the centre of the camp where the fire was. He whined louder, kicking his legs in the air in an attempt to escape, but Yeori carelessly dragged his entire weight in her right hand alone. “Your Majesty, my queen, I beg! I’m begging you! Please! Please, forgive me, my queen! I was not myself! I’m begging you! Please, I was not in my right mind!”

Hongjoong raised his hand high, gesturing for everyone to remain quiet. The man’s fear was so palpable, that he had to wipe his hand against his armour once Yeori set him down.

He cried miserably, blood and drool pouring out of his mouth like he was about to perform a sacrifice. Yeori watched her squirm with the pleasure of a murderer.

“Soldiers!” She shouted, her voice ringing throughout the camp like a wolf’s howl at the quietest hours. Hongjoong’s shoulders startled. “Allow this man to speak! Allow him to answer the king’s question! —Tell them! Tell them all what you have tried to accomplish!” The man squirmed at the queen’s voice, his yellow, crooked, teeth were chatters away from falling out of his mouth. “Speak, you filthy rat.”

He buried his head to his arm, wanting to wipe blood and tears and mud away, but Yeori tugged on the rope. “I- I…I grabbed her and- and tossed her to the ground!”

“And what have you done after you tossed me to the ground?”

The man gulped, only to choke out more blood. Sweat and tears were dripping from his face. His ankles appeared to be broken.

“I unsheathed my sword!” He spat, and Yeori had to laugh at the courage he spoke with. Hongjoong’s fear grew along with his. “And I pointed my sword at Her Highness!”

A wave of whispers, gasps, and sounds of disgust filled the camp, and Hongjoong was lucky enough to have Mingi behind him to support him when he lost his balance.

“And where have you pointed the sword?”

The man tried to bring his arms closer to him, but Yeori tugged harder, making him scream miserably. 

“T’your stomach, Your Majesty! Please, I cannot tell you how sorry I am! Have mercy!”

“Oh, how low you are.” She unsheathed her sword while Hongjoong held his breath as he watched the blade thrust right through the man’s shoulder. He watched him squirm and wail. “To dare ask me for mercy.” She twisted the blade around, pressing it further down as the man thrashed his entire body back and forth in pain as if he was possessed.

“Please, please, please, my queen! Please! Never again! I will never do it again! I will redeem myself! I will serve you and only you until I die! I will repent, I swear! I swear on my mother!”

“…Your mother would cry if she found out you swore on her. You dishonour her.”

Yeori pulled her sword out and went to cut the man’s ties, throwing the rope in the other soldiers’ direction. She kicked the man back down when he attempted to stand up, until he rolled on his back. His clothes were filthy with mud and blood. There was no sliver of clear skin on him. Yeori grabbed her dagger “Hold him down.” And waited until Mingi and Jongho each held him down by one arm. She leaned over the man, and with a clean slash, she cut his hand off, right over the line where his rope was. Mingi had not averted his eyes. On the other side, Jongho sent his words of gratitude for the ones above. Yeori gestured Mingi to leave, and he went back behind Hongjoong. “Of course you won’t do it again.” She promised, cutting off the man’s last hand as smoothly as cutting through paper. She and Jongho stepped away as the man began tossing, blood drops flying in arches over him like molten iron sparks.

Yeori grabbed the man’s severed hands and, using the rope he was tied with earlier, she hung them over the tree next to his tent. Not that he was ever going to sleep there ever again. “Burn him alive.” She commanded, walking past the armoured men, as they all bowed before her.

“Your Highness!” A familiar voice said. When she turned to face it, a figure kneeled at her feet.“You put your life on the line for a low blood like me. You returned for us when it was my duty to be your shield. But I swear to you that if the time comes, I will take a sword to the heart in your name. It is to your kindness and mercy that I can live another day.”

Pain pulsated throughout her face. She wiped the blood from her nose. “…What is your name?”

“Jo Dogwang, Your Highness!”

“…You need not thank me, Jo Dogwang. I would rather you showed your gratitude by bringing honour to your wife and children.” The kneeled soldier lifted his head, eyes wide in shock. “Value your life before you value me.” She smiled, leaving hundreds of men speechless, and a general more than displeased. "Am I right, _general_?” Without looking back for answers and reactions, she left.

She hid herself into her tent, sitting by the desk, with her face buried in her palms. She untied her hair and removed the fabric that bound her chest. Outside, the dying man was carried to his pyre, and when he began screaming his last scream, Yeori closed her eyes and listened. She threw her blood stained binder away and poured water over a clean cloth to wash off the dirt around her neck.

“Yeori-ah, may I?” Hongjoong called from the tent’s entrance, ready to open it, but he didn’t. 

“No, you may not.” She soaked the cloth in the already blood dirty water, wrung it, and scrubbed along her neck. “Give me a moment.” Then she wiped the water off with a clean towel, robed herself, and finally shapeshifted. Yeori’s arms trembled through Yeosang’s body. He had lost all courage to be there. “Now you may.” He said.

Hongjoong entered hesitantly. Yeosang’s robes and hair were dishevelled, his eyes devoid of luster. “Is he dead?” The spirit asked.

“Yes. I thought you wanted to feed on his liver.”

“I would rather starve to death.”

Hongjoong gently pulled Yeosang in his arms, nuzzling to the crook of his neck. His once floral scent was gone, replaced by the faint smell of blood and soil. When he closed his eyes, Yeosang’s skin was soft like willow leaves, his hair was blooming with flowers and hairpins, and there was a flute resting in his sash.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there.”

Yeosang scoffed, adjusting Hongjoong’s collar. “I’ll give you a chance to rephrase that.”

“Was it wrong?”

“No. The way you said that wasn’t wrong. I’m just unhappy with what you said.” Yeosang carded his hand through Hongjoong’s hair, watching how the strands flowed down from in between his fingers, like silk ribbons. “How about ‘I’m so proud of you’. Or ‘You handled yourself nicely and you gave that man what he deserved. You didn’t need me at all’.”

Hongjoong smiled and kissed the corner of his lips. “You know I am, but I now know how you feel about human lives…I also…don’t think I’ve ever seen you that furious."

Yeosang said nothing. For the rest of the night, he became unreachable. He stood isolated in the corner of their tent.

He was not there for the meetings, and the deception tactics that Hongjoong and the general had come up with for the next days to come. He was never the kind to take part in war. He regretted the times he chose against playing the flute more often for Hongjoong. He had even forgotten where he left it. The weight of the past started to feel heavier on his shoulders with every intake of breath. But heavier than that, was the weight of many futures to come. Of so many answers and promising paths and courses of action that he did not know what to do with. 

The realisation crashed over him like a tempest he was right in the eye of. Yeosang crawled on Hongjoong’s side of the bed and quietly cried into his pillow. He held his blanket to his chest, taking in what was left of his scent. Tales were wandering around about him, about what the agony of Eunbaem could make the world become. There was a reason why Eunbaem was given nothing to protect, and he was given the liberty to defend what was most dear to him. His heart felt heavy with sorrow, and he clutched his shirt over his chest. Tears would mercilessly spill out of his eyes, no matter how pressed shut. He curled up into himself, hugging Hongjoong’s blanket. His grip was powerful. Powerful enough to hold onto something that was not real. More than that, powerful enough to make something real.

When Hongjoong eventually joined him, Yeosang was long asleep, with dried tears over the bridge of his nose, and temple. He was uncovered, and he refused to let go of the fabric still clutched into his hands. He was usually a light sleeper, given that he never slept, but nothing seemed to awake him then. Hongjoong leaned over him and kissed his temple and forehead, whispering words of love that only made Yeosang cry even in his dream.

Hongjoong turned around to find the other side of the bed empty. He kept his eyes cracked open towards the tent entrance, but Yeosang never came back. He stood up and wrapped himself in a furred overcoat, going out in the cold to search for him.

Yeosang was sat down on the tree log by the fire, his hands and shoulders shivering. Hongjoong sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. His fingertips were blue with cold.

The trees were still as frozen in time, and the sky was filled with constellations. So vibrant, that it appeared to form a schism about to divide the world in two. Hongjoong wanted to point it out, the sky dusted with shades of violet, but no matter how interested he appeared to be, Yeosang refused to move.

Hongjoong cupped his frozen hands between his, before standing up and going to retrieve a blanket to cover him with. He placed it around his own shoulders and pulled Yeosang closer to him. Hongjoong went on warming his hands up with his own, eyes resting closed, until he heard Yeosang sniffling quietly beside him. His eyes were vitric with tears, and Hongjoong saw how he clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from trembling. “He tried to,” Yeosang murmured, his voice broken. “He was too close,” He blinked and the first tear rolled down his cheek. “I’ve never felt Yeori’s presence so strong. Even now. She’s so alert.” He swallowed, and Hongjoong watched the tear fall down from his chin onto his own hand. “I’ve seen a lot of miserable people,” He smiled, shaking his head “But I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared of anyone in my life.” And finally faced Hongjoong.

He grabbed Yeosang’s hand tightly, in both anger and pain. A vulnerable Yeosang was not a common sight. “But I- I hope you know I’ve never given any order to-”

“I know. Yet I…I feel the need to apologise.”

He felt Hongjoong’s hands bringing him closer to his chest, and he fell soft and pliant. “I know you feel the need to. But don’t. Don’t think about forgiving him. If you hadn’t done it. I would have.” 

He kissed the crown of his head and leaned his cheek over his hair. 

“It would have been better if you did it.”

“But was there something about him? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so fearful because of a single human.”

“I don’t remember anything. Not yet. There’s something in me that’s not letting me think. I was terrified. I was so scared.”

“You are brave. You are braver than any man here. You are worth an entire army.”

“I am not. I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm not a warrior."

“Maybe. But you act like one. However…I’d like Yeori to rest tomorrow.”

“But- I can. In her place.”

“You can watch me. And only if you see me down, I will allow you to step in. Otherwise, I’d like you to rest. Find a nice tree and enjoy the performance.” Hongjoong did his utmost to sound encouraging, but his voice, his tongue and his lips were something that Yeosang knew very well. He knew the difference between a Hongjoong that was brave just to be cocky, and a Hongjoong who thought himself invincible. That same Hongjoong who thought he could ever fool a spirit. Yeosang let him. He allowed himself to be encouraged. He showed Hongjoong he believed him even when he lied. He loved him that much.  


*  
  


Seonghwa attempted to have a look at Yeori’s wounds, which only resulted in him nearly getting his hand bitten off. Right now he was outside the tent, giving Yeori indications on how to apply the ointments, in what order, and how to bind them properly. He prepared her a salt and herbs mixture which she used to wash her cuts with as well, which stung worse than the real cut. The one that brought her to the verge of tears was the stab wound on her stomach. She did not cry because it hurt as much as she cried because what the man had said. She thought of real mothers and the pain they had to go through. She never liked having children too close to her, but she loved the concept of motherhood. She asked herself what if, indeed, there had been a little one in there.

“I feel different today.” She said, walking out of the tent, fully bound and covered. She was weaker to the cold.

“Rest, perhaps?”

“How can I rest when he’s out there? And when there’s a spirit-turned-hellion who’s after me?”

“I told you to leave that to me. I was just about to go in search of him.”

“That hellion you found a few days ago…was it him?”

“It most definitely belonged to him. Geummae is not here at the moment. But his eyes and ears are.”

Yeori sighed. “Very well. I will leave that to you for now, then. I’ll go ‘find a nice tree and enjoy the performance’.” She said, disgusted.

But no tree had a good view of the said performance. She chose one from where she could see the army returning when the time came. The yet clean track in between the hills, dug deeper from days of being stomped on by horses.

It hurt to breathe through her nose, and climbing up the tree was a challenge for her. With her eyes closed, the concentrated on the war sounds enveloping her. She could hear Hongjoong as if he was right next to her. His breaths were yet steady, his throat dry from grunting and screaming, but she did not feel him tired. She meditated through it all, then she snoozed, when the pain had gotten too much. Neither one of the bodies had ever been exposed to such mutilations for a very long time. When Yeori remembered, Yeosang’s consciousness came forward. She calmed him. 

She opened her eyes to the twilight. The pain throughout her body opened up before her eyes did, however. War cries were no more, and no blood stained the air. From the camp, however, she smelled fire. She closed her eyes and offered a short prayer for those who lost their lives that day. Her body did not allow her to attend the funerals. Much later, she woke up to a faint whistle of a familiar song. When she whistled back, Hongjoong looked up, surprised at the sight of the fox ears and tail. He looked around for the quickest way to climb up, and Yeori, naive and completely having forgotten about her pain, took Hongjoong’s hand when he was high enough, and pulled him up. The pain coursed through her like a wave crashing against rocks, but she had not externalised it.

“I killed three of his men today. I know you weren’t there, but you would have been very proud of me. All I got was this.” He pointed to the pink scar on his jaw. The kind only children got when they stumbled against their too long trousers. “And you. You have a hole through your stomach, and you were able to pull me up like it was nothing.”

“If I was human, I would be dead. It feels strange while it heals. But I’m better already. I did not see you, but I listened. And I’ve seen how strong you are.”

Hongjoong preened with a smile. But his moment of self glory lasted shortly. “Why were you here by yourself?”

“I’m not able to maintain my appearance anymore. Feeling quite weak at the moment. I also don’t like the way your men look at me. I’d rather be alone.”

“How do they look at you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Would you like me to do anything about it?”

“No. I understand their frustration. But I do not know what it is like to have an inferiority complex, so I cannot be empathetic.”

“When your words cut as deep as your sword, Yeori-ah, I understand that too.”

“Well, what can I do? I carry the names of their wives and mothers and sisters. It’s for their sake I let them be. Let them boast about their men returning home.”

“Why do you hate men?”

“I could not hate them when I live as one too. I just wish we understood each other more. And because we don’t, I often get angry. There’s an equal number of men and woman I would gladly slap some common sense into.”

Hongjoong wanted to laugh again, but settled for fondly looking at her. Her natural form was something fascinating to look at. There were always details about her appearance that he sometimes missed. Like how her eyelashes were not perfectly black, and how the tips of her hair were darker.

“Yeori-ah…A question has been on my mind lately.” Hongjoong remembered. Although his knuckles were sore, he still clenched and unclenched his fist. Looking at Yeori was never easy. “…You and Yeosang…are different people, right?”

Yeori looked down, laying her hand over where her wound was. “I’ve struggled with answering that myself…We are, but we aren’t. We’ve never disagreed. We’ve never fought over who should come forward. This body is predominantly his, and so is this consciousness. I’ve never demanded I saw the light again. I don't often feel what he feels, and see what he sees. This body is one. It’s only the face that changes. And sometimes, the temperament…But since you’ve noticed this, it means I must be behaving quite differently from him.”

“Sometimes you do. But I never minded it. You’re someone my heart loves to witness. I feel like you can do great things.”

“And you. You’ve come very far. I’m glad to have met you…Now I can safely say there’s one man in this world I would be willing to lose a finger for.”

Hongjoong laughed, agreeing with that. “I’m honoured.”

“As you should. You two are living the story I was never given a chance to live. And for that, I am happy.”

“Have you ever been with someone? Or do you bear someone in your heart right now?”

“I do. Or. Did.” She said. Yeori averted his eyes, and walked her finger over the earrings from her fox ears. Flowery and golden, short lived but never dead. “Her name was Kim Suyang.”

The name stung Hongjoong’s chest like an open wound. And memories flooded in through. Sleepless nights and frustrations over a game of _janggi_. A bright voice, but raspy when angry. Had it not been for her, Hongjoong would not have stood where he did then. Her brilliant, brilliant mind, and her omnipotence augmented by her weak sight. “Her Royal Highness?”

Yeori nodded.

Hongjoong wished he only acted surprised, but the more silent moments passed, the more sense it made to him. The way Yeosang looked at her when she closed her eyes for the last time. Hongjoong’s heart was about to burst out of his chest with how much it carried, failing to realise that the one sitting next to him was Yeori. And the one who cried the most was also her. 

“Yeosang and I shifted bodies back and forth to stop her from getting married to a man who did not deserve her. And knowing that she would have if we had not been there…hurt me deeply.”

“You wanted to…be with her?”

“I did, but that is not why. It was because if she had married that man, she would not have had His Royal Highness, and His Royal Highness would not have had _you_.”

“You knew everything? Ever since then?”

“We knew nothing about you, then. Just that…sometime…during a violent thunderstorm, a baby with red hair and a mark on his chest will be born. And that is what should have happened.” Sorrow sluiced her voice and eyes. “It hurt me to see Lady Suyang go, and I missed her greatly. And now I miss her even more.”

“Then I suppose…that jewellery box was for you.”

Yeori nodded, her fox ears bending forward. “Yes. Some of those bracelets in there were from me.”

Cautiously, Hongjoong raised his hand to Yeori’s head, gently petting her ears.“…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. We both miss her…You’re the last memory of her I have. You have the same shape of eyes as she did. She was more proud of you than she was of her own son. And for that, I will protect you. I will honour her through you.”

Hongjoong could do nothing, but nod humbly. He felt like it was not his place or moment to be grateful. “…What of your duty?”

“At the moment, I don’t have one. I chose his duty as mountain spirit, and I gave up on the woman I loved the most for the sake of a prophecy that was going to happen tens of years later…Now I’m not sure if Yeosang could do the same.” She lifted her hand to hold Hongjoong’s. Had it not been for the solemnity in her voice, he would have laughed at how much she cringed when they held hands. “But you mustn’t follow his example.”

“…Isn’t it strange how you share the same mind and body, but one advises me about the other?”

“It is. I agree. But my point still stands.”

“He is part of my duty. I don’t see why I have to put him second, when he will be with me until the end.”

Yeori smiled knowingly. She read the answers in his eyes like she read the future.


	14. King With No Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His throat went dry, and he knew no language. The pocket of his mind he kept for anxiety and doubt spilled itself all over his brain. Black spots appeared all over his vision. He felt the need to cry and cling like a helpless child."

Seonghwa combed through Yeori’s hair, successfully after persuading her into not cutting it. She claimed it got in her way while she fought, so Seonghwa suggested he tied it up into a topknot. Her hair was too thick for one, but he wrapped the thread around it until no strands were poking out. Through it, he stuck a smaller hairpin, of a phoenix with a flower in its beak.

The incident from two days back divided the camp in two. In men who revered her and found the courage to look at her for as long as they looked at Hongjoong, and gathered around her and the king to protect them both. Then there were the ones who joined sides with the general. Yeori’s gesture did nothing but to fuel his hatred for her. “I refused to offer my loyalty to someone who killed her own people.” He looked at her and said. And people blindingly followed his words.

She felt a stone lifting off her chest, and from that day onward she had stopped feeling restless. Nights were just nights —with Hongjoong sleeping pressed into Yeosang’s body, and days were just days.

Yeori grew used to this. In her mind, she even considered a schedule. Hongjoong, on the other hand, grew more displeased. He grew to think that he killed men for nothing. He felt like that was not part of his duties anymore. And he poured this displeasure into the battlefield. He took men by their throats, torture them in front of their comrades while he interrogated them. _Where is Sungjo?! Where are you hiding him?! Why isn’t he here?!_ He asked, and they all spat blood onto his face. He tossed bodies with his empty arms left and right, his robe was torn, and growled like a feral animal.

They shouted the Red Viper’s name like they summoned a hurricane. That was the last thing they heard from the enemy army, before they were given the signal to retreat. But Hongjoong had not allowed them to. On horseback he hunted them, holding two twin swords, he charged through them, slitting their throats open before they had time to turn around. Red Viper became a title for when he fought savagely.

When he did, the ground underneath his feet shuddered. Winter was hot compared to him, his muscles rung like silver at impact. The throats of his targets ruptured with flesh before the tip of his sword would even reach them.

A corolla of corpses and twitching bodies lied around him as dusk arrived, with him in the centre. The ghost of his breath was blood, his eyelashes crimson, and his swords were one with his palms. The clouds above his sky were charged red with rain. He raised his head to the darkening sky as if he prayed, while at his feet lied the punished names of those who rejected the king as their own. They died with their foreheads buried in the ground, the way Hongjoong wanted them to.

The patch of earth that surrounded him was quiet. He was alone at the bloodied ground. The new snowfall concealed the breaths of those around him, clustering instead around his ears and worshipping him as heaven-sent.

The ground that surrounded him was quiet. The blood on his hands was rainwater. The voices in his head were as real as dreams.

A scream came from somewhere far away, out of his reach and out of his mind. When he jerked his head, his eyes shot open wide, the blood gathered in between his eyelashes poured down. The earth ceased its motion, the voices vanished.

His eyes fell over Yeori’s face. Her parted, bleeding lips, her hands free of weapons, her head tipped back, limp and heavy. The soles of her feet were lifted off the ground. She was an ice sculpture melting against the sun. A sword pierced through her back, coming out red through her chest. Dark blood spilled her red robes and bright skin. The man who stood behind her, grinning with her teeth yellow with blood was a man who swore his loyalty to Hongjoong.

He lifted her body completely off the ground before kicking her off his blade like she was a prize deer at sport hunting.

“YEORI-AH!” Hongjoong screamed, running to her side. A sudden gush of frost prevented him. Frozen feathers whirled around him and Yeori, cutting into his skin like silver shards. Hongjoong shielded his eyes with his arm, his sword long blown away. The frost pushed against him as he pushed against back. He took one half-step at a time, chanting the same name, more and more shattered every time.

When it ceased, slower than it began, Hongjoong opened his eyes through his frozen eyelashes. Before him stood a glowing silhouette in blue and golden robes, hair like the sunset, glorious and ethereal. His legs froze, his voice ran dry. When their eyes met, the snowflakes went still, the wind ceased blowing. Yeosang’s face and hands were silver with keeled scales, his eyes like a serpent’s. When Hongjoong let out his first puff of breath in the shape of Yeosang’s name, the general staggered back, gurgling with his intestines lying into his palms. He lifted his eyes to Yeosang, blood trailing down his chin. Before he fell, Yeosang swung his iron fan across the man’s chest, then back in the other direction, slitting his throat open, and one last time, across his mouth. The bloody fan fell out of his hand as he kneeled before the general.

He tore out his viscera with one hand, digging through his thoracic cage with the other, impatiently and ravenously. He pulled his heart out while it still beat, tearing the arteries out with his fangs before sinking them into the muscular organ. He mercilessly shredded it apart, going for bite after bite, without bothering to chew. Next came the liver, which he devoured straight from the body. He used his hands to keep the body open and accessible, pulling the ribs apart until they snapped. Hongjoong gasped at the sound, dropping to the ground. The sight made him gag, but nothing more than that. His stomach burned with nausea, but he could not rip his eyes away. Yeosang dug his face into the corpse’s ribcage, seeking out the last chunk of liver, pulling it out and swallowing with no difficulty. He panted, mildly drooling. Tears outlined his eyes. Carefully and slowly, Hongjoong rose to his feet with his hands in a placating gesture. He approached Yeosang, who was still dark-eyed and in his trance. “Yeosang-ah,” He whispered. “You should go before anyone sees you.”

Yeosang’s hands twitched. Colours rippled in his eyes. Hongjoong wiped his hand against his trousers, going in to wipe Yeosang’s tear away with his knuckle. “How dare you…” Yeosang hissed. Hongjoong withdrew his hand. “How dare you say that to me?!” His eyes bled shivers into Hongjoong’s eyes, as he swatted the back of his hand against Hongjoong’s cheek when he opened his mouth to speak. “After what they did to me! To her!”

Hongjoong cupped his hand against his stinging cheek, staring in horror. The pain pulsating into his face travelled across his body, leaving him inanimate and unable to react when Yeosang vanished from his presence.

*

Hongjoong poured a cup of hot water over Mingi’s back when he finished scrubbing the soil and blood away. A big cut sat parallel to his spine, which Hongjoong had to be careful with, but when the wound was cleansed, Mingi had not flinched. It was the first time when Hongjoong joined them and bathed together, and scrub their backs like they had done for him times in the past. There was only a specific time of day when they were king and guards, nothing more. Then, Hongjoong frowned when Jongho would call Mingi ‘hyung’, and not him.

“Your Highness,” Jongho said hesitantly. “People said they saw His Lordship Eunbaem today.”

Hongjoong continued his silent act, wringing the cloth before hanging it by the chair’s armrest. Since they started their back he waited for any of them to address it. He nodded.

“People praised him. They thought His Lordship would bless us with his presence. But then they weren’t sure what they saw anymore.” Hongjoong’s anxiety grew in his chest. He was more tired than usual, and he lacked appetite. Seonghwa was nowhere to be found either. “But I told them that the general was killed and his body was not found yet.”

“You did?” Said Hongjoong.

“Yes. But I know what I saw.” Jongho quieted down. “I saw His Lordship eating his heart…Does he feed on people after they die, Your Highness?”

“I think…” Mingi trailed on, wrapping his shirt around him. He looked at Hongjoong for confirmation. “It’s because the general attempted to kill the queen…and that angered His Lordship.” Although he spoke like he knew the truth.

Hongjoong nodded. In his abdomen he felt a similar feeling to a candle crossed by a breeze. He dropped everything and ran outside. He was willing to run, no matter how far Yeosang was, barefoot if he had to. He would have, had Yeosang not been there already. In the centre of the commotion, a leader amongst the followers, a god amongst worshippers. No blood coated his face and robes. His eyes flared.

The men cleared the path that kept them apart. Weapons were drawn, but no one dared to point them at either, even if they were ordered to. 

“Everyone,” Yeosang hissed. He poured all the anger he felt in decades into that, but there was still a vague gentleness to it. “Who followed the general…Everyone who took his side and conspired against Yeori…I want them out. I want them sent home.” The only reason why Hongjoong had the courage to approach him was because of all the times they slept in the same bed. He thought all the nights they spent lying together gave him enough rights to calm him. He was taken back. To about months ago. When he sat on his throne, and Yeosang looked at him like he was the ruler of the entire world, inviting Hongjoong to rule with him.

Time passed sleet-shaped. Drops of snow and rain fell like sand in an hourglass. The more they fell, the more Yeosang’s anger grew.

“Do you know who they are?”

“Of course I do. But do we really want to go through this again? Must I threaten them once again with ‘I know who you are, but most importantly, you know who you are’?”

“May I have this conversation with you in private-”

“No, you may not.”

“I cannot grant your wish like this, Eunbaem. That would not work in anyone’s favour. I’d like us to talk about it.”

The raindrops that fell over Yeosang reached the ground as snow. “I see.”

He turned his back to Hongjoong without a bow. When he left the camp’s grounds, no one lifted their spears to stop him. Snow generated from his empty feet as his soles lifted off the ground. Hongjoong watched him go, taking nothing but one step forward, wanting to call his name.

“Your Highness.” A deep voice said. It belonged to a man named Heo Jiyeol. Hongjoong remembered him for always being on the general’s side. Like a slave more than a guardian. “We do not trust Eunbaem to fight with us anymore.”

Hongjoong felt something in the marrow of his bones imploding, sending shivers from inside out. “And why is that?”

He had lost Yeosang in the sleet’s fog.

“You saw what he had done to the general. How can we fight an orderly war when we know there’s a creature who eats humans among us? He made Her Highness’ body disappear. And- And you reported us nothing.”

“If I reported you nor ordered you anything, it means everything is in order.”

“We are here for Sungjo. And for three weeks. There has been no trace of him.”

Hongjoong clutched his numb fists, and he felt nothing. “I know.”

Rain and snowflakes trickled down through his collar, in the back of his ear, and down his spine. If someone cut him open then, he felt nothing. “Have you no backbone, Your Majesty?”

Slight rustles came from behind him. Men bracing and gasping. No leather hilts creaked. No one whispered. He stood silent, with no rain tapping on his shoulders.

Like he was the sky’s blind spot.

He knew the man’s voice to tell to feel the need to look at his face. He left them, following the tracks of Yeosang’s footsteps.

Before he reached the camp’s gate, the coldness of a blade brushed bast his throat. It barely touched his neck— enough for a dandelion puff to pass through. It wasn’t Heo Jiyeol’s bravery that caught Hongjoong’s attention. But how every single sword bearer seemed to lower their heads and agree with his actions. “Not only are you a soldier, but your sword is filthy…And you dare shed royal blood with it.” He bellowed, tilting his head enough for the side of the blade to cut his skin. Bearing his fangs, he drew his sword, and pivoting on his heel, he sent Heo Jiyeol’s arm and sword flying right into the wet firewood. “This is the first and last time you insult me. How stupid must you be to think I would ever fear a lowborn.” He said, but the screams and thuds echoed throughout the quiet of the mountain base like the cry of a corvid in the dead of the night. “Back to your posts. Now. And let this be a lesson to you all…Never draw your swords at me again.”

With his hand above his eye to protect them from the sleet, Hongjoong went in search for Yeosang. His boots dug into the muddy soil, his teeth chattered violently. From afar it looked more like he was aimlessly walking— lost rather than looking for someone. He did not hope he would find Yeosang alone in a tree, admiring the view, as he knew that weather was not for him. Hongjoong did not know whether Yeosang’s anger brought the rain or the snow. “Yeosang-ah!” He called, not too loud, hoping he was nearby. He hugged himself— pointlessly, considering his clothes were more water than fabric. “Yeosang-ah, please.”

A part of him soughed mercy. The part of him he repressed, or the one that came forward when he slept. When his instincts begged him to return, to seek shelter, or to allow help, he braced himself and hasted. The heat of his skin melted the snowflakes and turned the raindrops into vapours. He was fire, swallowing water like it was part of his own.

Had the weather been different, he might have felt that he walked less, but every step he took weigher more. The mud was quicksand under him. It poured around him too loudly for him to hear the drumming of his heart, so he could only assume he reached exhaustion. He had no memory of how bright or how dark it was when he left the camp. He closed his eyes and hoped. He thought of him. His face and his voice, the circles on his fingers from playing the flute. The red line in his eyes when he swiped his iron fan through someone’s flesh.

He thought of him until he could hear rain around him, but over him it ceased pouring. Lifting his eyes to see a shadow standing before him, taller and floating, and a blue umbrella with a lost jade trinket. He shivered. His lips and throat and hands. “T-Tell-” He ceased, cursing at himself for not being unable to speak. “Tell me what happened.” His teeth chattered; his fingertips curled up in the warmth of his palm. “Earlier. I don’t…Everything’s a blur. My mind doesn’t want to recall.” He sighed. “Why did you leave?”

Yeosang’s eyes were on Hongjoong’s filthy robes. He was merciful, but not enough.

“Wh-Why aren’t you talking to me? What did I do? Where’s Yeori? Is she alright?”

He leaned his umbrella to shelter all of Hongjoong, and barely half of him. His eyes and lips were a blank page.

“Why did you hit me earlier?!—Yeosang!…Answer me!” Yeosang’s shoulders startled. What he did was to only slightly withdraw his umbrella. “I said answer me!” Hongjoong grit his teeth, grasped the collar of Yeosang’s robe and threw him onto the ground, the _bangasa_ rolling away in the mud. Hongjoong straddled him, wrapping his hands around his throat. “Answer me…Answer me everything.”

Yeosang exhaled. He was everything, but afraid. His lips shone with rain and snow. “Or what? You’ll asphyxiate me?”

Hongjoong growled, tightening his grip around Yeosang’s throat. It was dry and warm. Yeosang gasped. “I’m tired of you…I’m tired of you not answering anything! I’m tired of you leaving me in the dark! I’m so fucking tired of your secrets!”

“…Get off me.”

“No.”

“Hongjoong, get off me!”

“I said no! Answer what I asked you!” He shouted from the pits of his lungs, balling his fist and punching Yeosang in the jaw. “You coward!” He would have gone for the second one, if Yeosang hadn’t torn him off by punching his temple in retaliation.

Hongjoong rolled over, cupping his hand around his pulsating temple. Behind him, Yeosang lifted himself up, propped on his elbows. He panted, looking at Hongjoong’s unmoving figure. He was curled up like a child, his hair filthy and dark. His shoulders shuddered in anger, his fist compulsively punching the ground. “Have you calmed down?” Yeosang asked through soft pants. Hongjoong muttered the filthiest of curse words. The kind Yeosang would scold him for. But it was too late. “Hongjoong.” Soon, he heard a sob coming from him. Soft, but as clear as day. “Stop crying.” Yeosang threatened. “Hongjoong, stop crying.”

“Why? Since when are you not letting me cry?” Yeosang crawled to him, forcefully turning him around. Hongjoong released his arm and dragged himself away from Yeosang. Soil besmirched his jaw and cheek. His eyes were bruised with pain. “Why are you treating me like this?! Why are you treating me like everybody else does?! Why is it suddenly a crime that I’m crying?!”

The white of his eyes was wounded, and it was the tears that ran down his cheeks that cleansed the rain. “…You chose the worst time to be vulnerable.” He stood up to wipe his robes clean, but there was no white left on them. “You’re drenched…Let’s go back.”

“I’m not! I’m not going back! I’m sleeping here!” He protested, with his elbows across his eyes, shamefully.

Yeosang picked up his bangasa, holding it over Hongjoong’s head. “Alright, then, at least take this.”

But Hongjoong slapped it away from his hand. “I don’t need your fucking umbrella!”

Yeosang let out a long sigh, apparently careless, but his heart shattered. “…What do you need, then?”

The walls of Yeosang’s heart crumbled as he kneeled. Hongjoong sobbed angrily, grasping at his hair and chewing on his lip, generating pain from more places so his heart won’t ache as much. He untangled Hongjoong’s hands from his hair, and wrapped them around his waist instead. He held him in his arms, with his cheek buried into his chest. Hongjoong’s fingers clung to the back of his robes while he wept and drooled and cried miserably. “Don’t treat me coldly! I hate it! I hate it so much! I can’t do anything when you’re cold to me!” He shouted while softly punching Yeosang’s back, then embracing him right away in fear of being separated. “Please talk to me…Please, please tell me things…Please, I’m so scared.”

Feeling like he was about to risk his life again, Yeosang left that unanswered as well. He picked Hongjoong up in his arms, despite the rage of protests, and took him back to the camp. 

  
*

It took a little longer than a bath for his tears to stop completely. Yeosang tipped Hongjoong’s head back, brushed his hair to smoothness, then poured warm water over it. He washed it patiently and gently, massaging his scalp carefully, because even from that far away he could feel Hongjoong’s headache. He rinsed twice every time, making sure his red hair shone like fire. He thought of washing Hongjoong’s hair like polishing jades. When he finished, he wrapped a towel around his hair, squeezed out all the excess water, then let it dry on its own to the fire’s warmth. Then Hongjoong stood up, threw out the water, and refilled the basin with fresh, lukewarm one. He sat behind Yeosang, and without warning, he pulled his robe off his shoulders, and tilted his head back. Yeosang’s hair was soft enough to always detangle itself, but Hongjoong still brushed through it. With his fingers. “Have you calmed down now?” Yeosang asked. After moments of deciding, Hongjoong hummed affirmatively. 

Yeosang wasn’t sure what Hongjoong was doing behind him, because he surely wasn’t washing his hair like he normally should have. He knew the king had never been required to wash anyone’s hair. Or dip his hands into dirty water to begin with. But he still smiled and appreciated it. From what he felt he could tell Hongjoong rubbed locks of his hair together as if washing a cloth. “The only reason I’m not cutting my hair is because I know…I know you like it.” Hongjoong said.

“Thank you. But if you ever wanted to cut it, I would understand.”

Once again, Hongjoong fell quiet after that. Yeosang thought it was because he did not hear what he wanted. When he noticed Hongjoong was done, the first thing he did was to stand up and go fetch Hongjoong medicine for his headache. He said nothing before he left, leaving Hongjoong shaking and worried. Yeosang returned with a small envelope and a cup of water, smiling at how Hongjoong grimaced, but downed it all quickly.

Yeosang went on ahead and lied down while Hongjoong cursed and gagged at how bitter the medicine was. He went to cleanse his tastebuds with raspberry juice, then lied down on his much uncomfortable bed. He buried his face into Yeosang’s chest, and wrapped one arm around him. He was nowhere near as peaceful as he hoped he would feel. Until Yeosang gently kissed his forehead, and with that, all the pain. “You know everything there is to know.” He murmured, not yet withdrawing his lips. He kissed him once more. “I would never keep you in the dark.”

“But you are. You tell me even less than before. You grew apart from me.”

“I didn’t. Nothing’s changed in my mind and heart. Except,” Hongjoong raised his head. That was the only thing in the world at that time he could draw his attention to. “I was taken to a place which brought me bad memories…And I…accidentally allowed my old self to seep through…But everything’s alright now. I’m back.”

“Was it because of the general?”

“Yes. And the little things that have led up to that incident. It was wrong of me, and I’m so sorry, but…If I hadn’t done anything-”

“I know. I understand. You saved her.”

“I…I had to.” His eyes averted, looked around him, anywhere except Hongjoong’s eyes. He had a lot more to say. When he spoke, the king basked in gratefulness, having no courage to interrupt him. “After you rest…I’d like you to come with me somewhere.”

“Alright.” Hongjoong nodded. Two small yellow bruises sat on his temple. “…Can you, um, hold me?”

“I will, if you tell me what’s the matter with you.”

“Just please hold me.” But he forced himself into Yeosang’s embrace before the other had time to react. He exhaled, relieved.

“Did I not tell you to rest? Hongjoong, what is happening to you?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I just need this for now. Tell me you won’t leave.”

“I have no reason to leave. Whether we were bonded or not, whether you were part of my mission or not, I would still stay.”

“But why am I nothing, but this? Why am I just someone you’ve bonded with, and why am I just part of your mission? Why am I nothing more?”

“Hongjoong, you’re not listening to me. You are much more than this. You— Are you crying?”

“…No.”

“Look at me?”

“Leave me alone! I said I’m not-”

“Hush now…Hush, it’s alright. Don’t shout…they could hear us.” Yeosang cradled him in his arms, tenderly more than tightly, aware of his pain. “Rest, king. It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to hold me so tight.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Yeosang snickered. “…Alright, then.” 

  
*

Hongjoong never entered his deep sleep. His eyes were closed, his body warm and limp, and his cheeks like two rose buds. He fell in an out of sleep, twitching awake in panic that he was alone. But Yeosang had not even closed his eyes. He caressed his temple and chanted prayers in his mind to take Hongjoong’s pain away. He had never feared more for Hongjoong’s life as he did when he saw a man who was to serve him point his sword at him. But right after his arm was severed and he fell to the ground, Yeosang rushed to report San everything.

San, who had been nothing but dreaming prophecies in the past days. About Hongjoong.

Hongjoong, who had unknowingly changed the course of the future time and time again.

It was the first time when Yeosang was faced with such difficulty. He weaved the threads of time in his hands smoothly, like he was the only one skilled in those arts. He touched Hongjoong’s forehead to check his temperature, releasing the breath he had been holding when he saw it had decreased.

Hongjoong dressed in the first robe he found. He smiled when he saw Yeosang intervening, retying his cord and adjusting his collar. Always careful for Hongjoong to look presentable and courteous. “You have something yellow on your jaw.”

“Oh, I wonder what it is.” Yeosang said, songfully. “You know, never thought I’d say this, but…I suppose I deserved that punch from you.”

“…And I.”

After a quiet moment, they both giggled at each other. Perhaps that was their way of apologising. But underneath that apology, they both knew there was a lot more.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere not too far. Seonghwa is waiting for us there.”

Outside it was down to a skeleton crew— no one with enough nerve in their blood to look at them. Hongjoong did not need to shift his eyes to know that it was not him who was most feared anymore. He was the first to believe that it was Yeosang who ruled from his shadow.

Hand in hand with him, they walked on air, lower than other times. And quicker. And the way they held each other’s hands was different. In those conditions, Hongjoong did not want to fly anymore. He felt like the rhythmical beat in his chest was, in fact, his heart hitting the walls of the void as it fell. There was nothing in him that wanted to look ahead. He was not curious.

They landed at the entrance of a village with torn gates. Yeosang sent his blue fires ahead of them before entering. It was lined with short, weakly built bungalows with haystack roofs, and several larger residences close to the square, where the noblemen and those with prestigious jobs lived. Other than every entrance to every house being torn away and left paving the streets, the village was intact. No voices, no whispers and even snores came from anywhere. A bird of the night screeched from far away, but they both remained unbothered. No predominant smell other than that of rain wafted in the air. No other signs of violence, no blood, and no corpses. Thus far. “What happened here?” Hongjoong whispered. He walked behind Yeosang without having been told to. He told himself he was anything, but scared.

A soft clatter came from one of the noblemen’s houses. Hongjoong braced himself, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword, while Yeosang approached it calmly. “Seonghwa?” He called. Hongjoong’s shoulders lowered.

“In here.”

Yeosang gently drew the bamboo blinds at the door away for them to enter, but they collapsed in his hand along with the board it was attached to. He bowed and apologised to the blinds, and entered. Behind him, Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

On the bed in the main room lied an old man in scholar’s clothes, with his jaw dislocated, head hanging off like a puppet’s. His skin was strewn with black marks like bruises. His robes were bloody. By the position of the bloodstains, it was unclear where it came from. Lastly, his eyes were wide open and glimmering yellow.

“Is he the last one?” Yeosang asked.

“One of the few. The children are all gone. The only ones I’ve managed to rescue was a family of four. Even now, they should be safe.” He said with a sigh, pulling a small bottle out of the inner pocket of his robe. “I’ll look for more to collect. I shall meet you at the gates when we finish here.”

Yeosang nodded. After Seonghwa vanished, he turned to face Hongjoong, whose anger flared the more his presence was ignored. Without meeting Yeosang’s eyes back, he left to explore the ghost village on his own. His feet slapped the ground with acrimony, and the dust he lifted translated to whispers and hisses crawling up his ears. Skeletal figures with yellow eyes carrying his parents’ bodies. It was dark, but not enough to frighten him. He heard Yeosang’s soft steps following him, however not as close as he wanted them to be. In his peripheral vision, he saw things that he could not distinguish, but was sure they all made a sound or move. Yeosang’s guiding lights grew in number, and they were all perceptive to where Hongjoong was looking. Wherever his eyes were directed, they approached it and illuminated it. The foundation of each bungalow was mildewy stacks of firewood, or piled stones underneath a wooden board. He had never been in danger of being left without shelter. His palace was the one built with the rarest and most expensive of materials, the floor was always polished clean that he could run the halls barefoot and still have his feet dustless. But then, his boots became muddy up to the ankle with the first step he took inside the village. 

He thought himself lucky for not having seen that place alone. As he explored the streets, he thought about where those people slept, where they bathed, or how effective was that hay roof against storms. He was taken back to a memory of him when he was a child. When he spoke out of line, and his father left him outside of his palace in the middle of a storm, only allowing him in if he apologised. Hongjoong never apologised and slept under the pavilion. The next morning he had the worst fever he had ever suffered. His father had not apologised either.

“Yeosang-ah,” He called. He stood before a large wooden board, that functioned as a cover for a hole in the wall. He saw something faintly glinting, like dripping liquid. When he approached it, he smelled blood. The bloodstains did not seem to be accidental. They were all about the same size, and of precise strokes. He took steps away, squinting his eyes, trying to decipher what it read. “What does this say?”

Behind him, Yeosang made a sound of protest. “I…”

“What’s wrong? Can you read what that says?”

Yeosang nodded, almost guiltily. After moments of avoiding it, the flames fused into a single bigger one above the board.

Hongjoong’s breath caught in his throat. He staggered back as if pushed. A glacial shiver travelled through him, from the nerves of his fingertips to his heart.

_Our king did this._

_The king took you from me.  
_

_This is whom you call your king?_

Hongjoong dropped his hand from his hilt, letting it fall freely to his side. He sighed, tired, and walked over to the board while cracking his knuckles. With a scream, he grabbed it by the edge, he tore it apart from its holds and slammed it to pieces against the ground with the force of a mountain god. Clouds of dust and waves of mud erupted from under, causing the ground to shake with the force of the crash. Hongjoong’s physical strength was a force to be feared. He panted abruptly. There was nothing to discern from his hooded eyes. “Is this why you brought me here?”

“I didn’t know about this. I just…knew about the hellions. And-”

“And Sungjo.”

“…Yes.”

Yeosang approached him slowly, tentatively reaching his hand to Hongjoong’s shoulder, but without lifting his eyes from the ground, Hongjoong slapped his hand away. “What does he look like?”

Yeosang paused. He hoped he would never have to remember that face.

If no name and no background would have been attached to Sungjo, Yeosang would have considered him textbook handsome. His hair was red and long, but not as long as Hongjoong’s. He was taller than him, but not by far. His voice was deeper, his eyes brighter, his lips were much plumper, with a much thicker chest. Sungjo was sculpted out of someone’s dream. He had the kind of face that women would fawn over. The kind of face that could be used as a weapon. But since Yeosang knew everything and more about him, he resented him with all of his being. He was nightmare walking on earth. “Um…y-you do resemble him quite a bit, if that’s what you’re asking. Physiognomy…And hair too.”

“…I see.”

Yeosang closed his eyes, sighing relieved, as he expected a tantrum. However, he opened his eyes to the tip of Hongjoong’s sword pricking his Adam’s apple. “I’m listening.”

“Put your sword down-”

“Tell me everything you know. Now.”

“But you already know-”

“Bullshit. I don’t know anything. I’m not moving until you tell me. You can try anything. I’m not afraid of you.”

Yeosang wanted to smile. Hongjoong was not afraid of him precisely because he wasn’t trying anything. But the spirit’s biggest flaw was that he loved humans for the most superficial reasons. He loved courageous and confident and even arrogant Hongjoong more than he loved the others. “Sungjo’s men were here…in search of supplies, maybe. Or to take prisoners. Or to…you know, test how sharp their swords were. They stole everything there was to steal. And everyone too. Mothers and children. They all died with troubled hearts. And now they are all hellions. Well, most of them.”

Hongjoong thrusted the blade just enough to draw one bead of blood out of Yeosang’s neck. Yeosang allowed him to do as he pleased, because he remembered everything. “Was it that difficult? I don’t enjoy threatening you.” 

“I disagree with that statement…And it’s not a matter of being difficult to tell you…it’s a matter of me teaching you by making you think.” 

“Does it look like I want to be tested now?”

“Well you certainly did when you-”

“Eunbaem,” Seonghwa said. No one felt or heard when he made his appearance. “Perhaps now is not the right time.” Yeosang visibly relaxed, and nodded. “Please settle this lovers’ quarrel privately, and let us focus on the task at hand.”

Hongjoong wiped the bead of blood from Yeosang’s neck, and tasted it. “…He’s right.”

“I know, I just…”

“Just what?”

“…No. Nothing. Let’s…talk.”

“Tell me first.”

Yeosang looked back at Seonghwa for approval, and the elder nodded. “…I dreamt about this.” He said, pointing at the shattered board. “…But it was not made of wood in my dream. Nor was it written in blood. I’ve been thinking if I went wrong somewhere.”

“But are you allowed to be doubtful, Eunbaem?” Seonghwa scolded, softly, yet the angriest he’s ever sounded.

“No.” He murmured. “I’ll do better.”

Hongjoong tried to lift his chin, but Yeosang would not allow himself to be encouraged.

“Your Highness,” Seonghwa began. In his hand there was a thin stack of talismans, bigger in size than regular ones, translucent, and with blue, shining edges. “I’m going to give you these. I am, however, not allowed to tell you what they are. Nor is Eunbaem.”

Hongjoong took them, and flipped through the stack. “But how should I know how to use them, then?”

Seonghwa looked at the sky with a worried look on his eyes. He hesitated, then he pulled off his eyepatch, throwing it in a puddle. “Do you remember what I told you about the kind of duties spirits have?”

“I do.”

“And do you remember what I told you about spirits who work with prophecies and dreams and premonitions?”

Hongjoong nodded like an obedient student. “That it’s a privilege…and also a burden.”

“It is.” Hongjoong looked at Yeosang, who avoided everyone’s eyes. “Then I won’t beat around the bush anymore: We are putting ourselves in danger for you.”

Hongjoong’s heart accelerated before his brain even registered what he heard. “…You are?”

“We are. This all is Eunbaem’s duty, not mine. But I am here, and I am aware of everything. I’ve gotten myself involved, and now I have to suffer the consequences…We are not allowed to tell you anything. We are forbad to tell humans about dreams. And we are forbad to give hints and omens and signs…And yet we still did. I know that you not being told anything is frustrating. I understand, and I’m sorry. But you must also be understanding of our Eunbaem. You must not fight him, and he must not fight _you_. Everything you see and deduced from here, is all you need to know. We also have moral rules and codes, a system that we work in, and punishments in case of misconduct. We help you and your kind because we want to…but we are not obligated to. We are allowed to feel threatened. We are allowed to feel uncomfortable…And I will tell you this once. I would NEVER allow a human to behave with me the way you just behaved with Eunbaem. If I were you, I would consider myself lucky that I am so loved. Had it been every other spirit instead, you would have been hexed, or even dead. He may have given you the right, but I am not.”

“Seonghwa-” Yeosang attempted.

“You dare speak over me.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Seonghwa saw a spark in Hongjoong’s eyes. The kind of spark that appeared in his eyes when someone disrespected him and he was about to put his power to test. “I believe the king should go on ahead…I need to speak to Eunbaem.”

“If you’ll scold him, then I’d rather not.”

“Hongjoong…it’s alright. Just wait for me at the gates.” Yeosang assured him with an unconfident smile on.

Hongjoong did so, after glaring at Seonghwa until he had to look away. Yeosang followed him with his eyes, more worried for him being alone than for himself and what he was about to hear. Seonghwa eyes them both hopelessly. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. Even if I lose control sometimes…I fix it. I always do.”

“Before I came here…Do you know what San told me? He told me not to let you go astray. Again. So I don’t know if I’m making the right decision here.”

“I won’t go astray. I’ve worked tirelessly for so long.”

“I know, but I took a closer look at you, and— correct me if I’m wrong, but you started thinking a lot more with your heart lately.”

“Ah, I suppose that is not a secret anymore.” 

“And are you proud of that?”

“I don’t know. But I feel happier these days. I feel a lot of things I haven’t felt in a long time. I know what my goal is. Don’t worry. I won’t wrong anyone this time.”

“That is not my worry. My worry is that you are trying to protect him from a possible inevitable fate. My worry is that you are spoiling him to the point where he will depend on you, and you will have to carry the weight of the future on your own. That is _his_ future. Not yours. Your responsibility is whatever San assigns you to do. Your responsibility is not _him_.”

“I made him one.”

“You’re allowing him to disrespect you.”

“No, you don’t understand, I’ve never felt more human. I really feel like I am the same with him. I like it when we fight, when we bicker, and when we understand all is just a joke. I could never be like this with anyone else. I do love him, I love him so much, and he is also my friend. And sometimes all we need is to look at each other, and that is how we apologise. I understand the importance of him being protected. This is not something that we are taught as spirits, but I lived in the palace for enough to learn that this is what humans do. Humans learn that if the king falls, the entire country does as well. If something happens to the king, the entire nation is doomed. The king is as the top of a mountain, and the middle and lower class form the base. Now imagine the fall of the king as a rockslide or an avalanche. What are we to do, then?…The things he’s gone through…I wish it upon no one else. We have the gift of redemption. They do not. If they fall…that’s it.”

“…This is all very honourable of you. And I mean this sincerely. But I hope you know I am also coming from a good place.”

“I know. And I’m grateful.”

“…Have you always been this devoted to the royal family?”

“…Only for about three reigns now.”

Seonghwa looked at him as if they had been in any other position, he would have hugged him and kissed his forehead and wish him all the good in the world. His heart told him to feel happy for him, but San’s voice beat in his core stronger than that. “…You do know that something is to happen one of these nights, yes?”

“Tonight, in fact.”

“That is sooner than we were told.”

“It is. But lots of unexpected things happened in just a day, and now we must adapt. Why do you ask?”

“…Because…” Seonghwa lowered his head, and laughed. “Ah, we might have to share a punishment for this, but…I will protect you. And I will search for you.”

“You’ve changed your mind so fast.”

“No, I did not. I just understand you on a different level now. Everyone is scared you were about to abandon your duties and…elope or something. But now I know what you think, and you remind me of my parents once again. When my mother was alive, she performed for the king. She would not stop talking about how much it honoured her. However, my point still stands. We are on a higher social class than humans, and if they don’t pray to us…You know what happens.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Seonghwa touched his shoulder with one hand, then the other. He squeezed them gently, before embracing him, softly clapping his hand against his back. Before Yeosang had time to lift his hands to embrace him back, Seonghwa pulled away. “Good. Get your king to safety, then.” He concluded. With a fatherly smile on his face, he stepped away from Yeosang, then vanished behind a surge of water that surged around him like a cloak during windy weather. Yeosang wiped his face of the seawater Seonghwa left behind.

Hongjoong was sat down on an abandoned wagon near the village gates, flipping through the translucent talismans Seonghwa gave him earlier. Yeosang’s chest flowered with pride each time he saw Hongjoong so invested in the spiritual culture. A frown painted his face, holding in more frustration than his mind did. As he walked over to him, Yeosang searched for ways to riddle or hint him more. Until Seonghwa’s voice knocked at the walls of his heart, preventing him.

“We haven’t been with Seonghwa that much, but…he has this talent of making me understand what a burden I am to you.”

“One day, you will understand your true role in this chaos. But until then, know you’re not a burden.” Yeosang tapped his fan against his lips while holding them in a slight pout. Hongjoong was hot on his heels, face too contemplative to listen to Yeosang. And the spirit knew this. What he also knew was that he was aware of the power he held over Hongjoong. The power to draw all of his attention to him. The power to give him air when his lungs denied. To put him to sleep when his nightmares held him restless. He lifted his hand, inviting Hongjoong to take it.

But the king hesitated. “…I think I know what’s going on. What Sungjo is trying to do.” He said with omnipotence in his voice, but right in the next moment, he took Yeosang’s hand. There was no more proof the spirit needed.

“What is he doing?”

“I don’t want to tell. It feels like if I do, it will become real…But I have a feeling I’m right…And for the very first time in my life…I wish I was wrong. By the gods, I hope I’m wrong.”

A tease and a joke lied under Yeosang’s tongue, but the moment was unfit for it. He chose to say nothing to that, only caressing Hongjoong’s hand instead. Hongjoong walked slower than usual, and his shoulders were mildly hunched. He yawned, and swept the hair out of his face. Yeosang saw him peeking at him every now and then, hoping he’d say something. And when he did look, he would fall into the same trap. One that tempted him into grasping his hand tighter and changing directions. Running towards the rivers and undressing and bathing until the cold would kill them both slowly. For half the walk back to the camp, it had been an entire cycle. Every time he had to rip his eyes away from Yeosang, he became more tired.

“I hate holding hands with you.” He said.

“Let me go, then.”

“No…It’s just so…Frivolous.”

“Well if it’s frivolous, you could just let go-”

“I said I’m not letting go.”

“Alright, don’t get mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He paused. “You don’t get mad either.”

“I’m not mad, don’t worry.”

“But you do seem mad.”

“I’m mad because of the things that are happening. Not because of you.”

“…And I’m mad because I’m not ready for what’s about to happen.”

“I feel that way too. But we shall overcome. Just like we have so far.”

The flags of the camp came into view, sharply fluttering in the air. For a second, Hongjoong saw everything through his mother’s eyes, where everything was prophetic. In the daylight, the flags were yellow. If the sun shone directly onto them, they looked like they were gold-dusted. But when the dark came, they blended within, and their flutter looked like that of a bird’s wings stuck in a hunting net. If he had not looked up, he would not have noticed them. The poles the flags were attached to also seemed unstable. If he stared, he could see fire. But there was none.

Until he returned to his tent, Hongjoong did not look up. He had the luxury to do so, for Yeosang was behind him. Only the spirit noticed how the guards who were at their posts looked at Hongjoong, then at each other with a little nod. When Hongjoong entered the tent, Yeosang stopped at the entrance, met every single guard’s eyes. They all witnessed how Yeosang’s eyes gained brightness and colour, and changed shape and depth, until they became reptilian.

Hongjoong dropped himself down in his desk chair, burying his face into his palms. He angrily kicked his muddy boots away, and continued brooding. Yeosang let him be, picking his boots up and going back out to clean them. While he was out, he exchanged several words with Mingi, who had been restless until the two returned. Jongho was long asleep. He filled him in about everything that happened, and everything that was going to happen, provided that, except Jongho, he kept it a secret.

When he returned, Hongjoong had already disrobed and wore only his white ramie robe, with his feet soaked in a basin of hot water. He wiggled his toes, softly splashing water around. He looked like he had something to say to Yeosang, but failed when he saw the newly cleaned boots he carried, and the dirt on his hands.

“You really shouldn’t have.” Hongjoong said, embarrassed.

Yeosang put the boots down at Hongjoong’s feet, then rolled his sleeves up, and with a brush, he started scrubbing the dark underneath his nails. “Do you know what the people at the palace worry about the most?”

Hongjoong had several answers in his mind for that. “…What?”

“They worry that you have no warm food to eat. They worry about the fact that you do not have the privilege of eating expensive meat anymore. They worry about you not wearing silk and gold. They worry about your bed not being comfortable, and your bath water not being to your liking…They worry about you living life as a lowborn with no one to serve you.”

Hongjoong looked downcast, and wordlessly took a towel to wipe his feet. The last time he did, he waited for someone to tie the ribbons of his trousers, and the realisation that he was alone came with shame. “I don’t know how to feel about that.” He said, making a mediocre bow and shoving it inside the boots before Yeosang saw.

“I don’t think there’s a certain way you need to feel about it. This is just how you were raised.” Yeosang wiped his hands, then kneeled before Hongjoong, pulling out his trousers from under his boots and tying the ribbons properly.

“…Then why are you doing all this for me? You’re not my servant.”

“I’m not. But I feel like I am responsible for you. You are this nation’s king, and I am part of this nation. But what I feel for you goes far and beyond what a subordinate should feel for his king, so I’m not sure anymore.”

“You’re not my subordinate either.”

“No. But this is what everyone at the palace sees me as. A king is a king, no matter where.” He stood back up, smoothening his sleeves. “I guess I just want to see you safe and happy.”

“You chose the worst moment for that.”

“Is there a good and a bad moment to see you happy?”

“You saw what those people said about me.”

“But we also know that wasn’t you.” He sat down next to Hongjoong, and took his hand, holding it on his lap. “I will tell you something. Whether you like it or not, I don’t care, but you need to hear this.”

Hongjoong nodded right away. He was like a starved man at the bottom of a pit who was served stone-hard bread after days. Anything was good for him. Anything, as long as Yeosang spoke.

“…The winds will change tomorrow.” Hongjoong blinked. Lights in his head flickered with connections and searching for answers from the past events. It was vague, but solvable. “And so should you.”

“How do you know the winds will change?”

“Because I will be the one to change them.” Yeosang closed his eyes, and after a long, quiet moment, he opened them back. “Things will happen. Soon. It goes against my prophetic code to tell you what, but you have to remember that you’re not alone. I will stay with you for as long as time will allow me. The only, and I truly mean _only_ , case in which we might part ways is if-”

“If you receive a prophecy.”

“…Yes. But even so, you have to remember that I am always looking for ways for things to work in your favour.”

“But is _my_ favour the world’s favour?”

“What’s the difference…between the two?”

Hongjoong let out a short huff of breath, and kissed him. Slowly, then all at once. With arms wrapped around his neck, searching and clawing, he spoke with kisses more than he did with words. He lied Yeosang down and crawled over him, never having lifted his lips, and explored his mouth with a pleasure and passion that everybody else, but him, was denied. “I thought you don’t cherish me anymore.”

“Never insult me like this again.”

Hongjoong kissed him one last time, smiling innocently and brightly, before dropping his head on Yeosang’s chest. And his smiled only grew when two arms held him tightly. “Please stay strong for me. I need this now more than ever.” Yeosang said. “When you said I was cold to you…I did it because I wanted to push you. I wanted you to fight me and to prove me wrong…I never meant to make you cry.”

“But I feel better after I did, you know. I could fight you now if you wanted me to.”

“I do miss sparring with you.”

“Me too. I need to get my revenge.”

“Ah, you won’t ever let that go, will you?”

“No. I need to win.”

Yeosang smiled fondly, kissing his hair. “This is my favourite side of you.”

“Your favourite side of me is the side that everyone hates.”

“I’m sure no one hates it. Humans just don’t like struggling. And sometimes you can be too much.” 

“Am I too much for you?”

“Absolutely. But I can also tame you if I wanted to-”

“Don’t.”

Yeosang tipped his head back, giggling. Hongjoong wanted to kiss that smile above everything, but the sound those lips made was reaching extinction, so he smiled along. “My king, I think you should rest for now.”

“I want to stay with you.”

Yeosang shook his head. He became serious again, like he was reminded of what he should have been doing. When Hongjoong crawled off him, he blew out the candles, and handed the king his sword. Then he grabbed his chin, kissed him softly, and placed his forefinger on his lips, gesturing him to be quiet. In utter silence, Yeosang took a small empty bag, where he threw in items like a brush, the last bags of herbal mixtures there were left in his tent, and other items. Hongjoong watched him confused, his tiredness making him more obedient and quiet. When Yeosang lied back down next to him, he whispered: “Don’t change your clothes. Just rest your eyes for now. I’ll protect you. Nothing will happen to you.”

Hongjoong knew. He lied his head down next to Yeosang’s lap, with his hand over his sword. Next to him, Yeosang sat with his legs crossed in a meditative state, with his hands over his knees. Hongjoong tried to follow his example, his mind too crowded, his heart too burdensome, and his blood filled with too much adrenaline. On the other side of Yeosang, Hongjoong saw his sword. He brought his own just as close, and went back to meditating. He was rested from before. One by one, throughout the camp he heard men blowing their candles out, but no other shuffling sounds came after. Hongjoong smiled. He was starting to understand, but in that moment he was greatly proud of how his heart welcomed the new realisation. He did not want to weep, to run, or to give in. He stood up in the same position as Yeosang, with his palms facing upwards against his knees, back straight, and lungs filled with air.

In one of the past nights, Yeosang spoke shortly about how the wind carried the most secrets, and about how one can foresee the future by how the air smelled, and how heavy it felt. Hongjoong took deep breathes, taste-testing the air in him like it was new wine. It was light like the quiet before a storm. On the opposite side of the forest, he heard metal clanking against metal and horses huffing. He clenched his teeth. Yeosang held his hand right away. They both opened their eyes to each other at once. Hongjoong kissed the back of his hand, continuing to hold it as he meditated.

Thoughts had passed. Hongjoong had opened himself a path to an unexplored side of his mind. A small pocket, like a void where he found out he could store in feelings he did not need. He locked fingers with Yeosang as he ventured into that side of his mind. It was dark and starless. It was infinite— a place where not even his heart dared to beat. There, he placed his doubts, watching them go adrift.

Moments later, Yeosang let go of his hand, and grabbed his sword. Hongjoong opened his eyes slowly. The spirit was stood up before him, facing the tent entrance. He was still and stubborn against the tides. His fingertips glowed blue, and so did the gold of his sword’s scabbard.

When the ground began shaking with the force of horses galloping closer and closer, Yeosang turned around and smiled as if he had fallen in love. He gave Hongjoong his hand to hold, and helped him stand up.

“Your Majesty! Sungjo’s army! They’re coming!”

Hongjoong gasped. Yeosang kissed him to silence him. Then he allowed him to go.

Outside were his men. Armourless and filthy. Gathered in a semicircle in front of the king’s tent with their swords pointed at him. Their faces read regret and remorse. Their hands raised weapons at their own king without their hearts’ consent. With their eyes, some pointed to the entrance to the camp where there was no guard, so he would escape. They did not want the king anymore, but neither did they want to ‘shed royal blood’.

“But we shall do them all a favour.” Heo Jiyeol said, although he could draw no sword. “All they want is the king’s head. And if we want to stay alive, we have to present it to them.”

“…Have you no backbone, Heo Jiyeol?”

“Must I? When you allowed our own general to die and eaten by a cannibal! You speak of honour when you allowed the queen to die! How dare you preach about honour to me, when you yourself honoured neither of them with a bloody funeral! You cannot lead an army! You cannot rule a country, let alone men in war! You are an _infant_! You-” An arrow pierced the back of his head and came out of his orbit with his eyeball and nerve attached to the tip. Blood splattered onto Yeosang’s robe. He sighed, amused.

“It had to be done.” Jongho said. He was perched up on the watch post, with a second arrow loaded. 

Before they even thought of drawing their attention to him, Yeosang thrusted his sword into Heo Jiyeol’s guard as a signal. “Keep it for the afterlife.” And kicked the body into the next one.

Arrows flew from the watch posts quickly as if shot out of panic, but not once did they fail to cave into someone’s temple. With a cry to match a war commencing, they stormed towards Hongjoong with enraged eyes— a blur of blades too tragic for the moon to shine on them, not looking left and right if their comrades fell. In their eyes Hongjoong had been reduced to a prize from a war they should have been winning.

An ear piercing whistle erupted from right besides Hongjoong, pushing the soldiers back with a force of a torrent, crashing them into tents and posts and firewood piles. They fell over each other like stacks of fish in a net, impaled by the man at the bottom who failed to put his sword away. The camp became a harmony of bones snapping, rivers of blood murmuring, and pained wails.

Yeosang lowered his flute and made it vanish, taking Hongjoong by the arm and guiding him to the horse stables.

A flaming arrow with black fletching dashed a breath away from Hongjoong’s ear, already extinguished by the time it pierced through someone’s skin. Foolishly, Hongjoong looked back, to see Mingi just twisting his spear into someone’s stomach, kicking him in the jaw and off his blade. Then more arrows set aflame came. “Your Highness, go!”

“What about you?!”

“We’re not leaving until you do!”

“Wh-” He searched for Yeosang, who was nowhere within his arm’s reach. He was tying the bag of supplies to the horse’s saddle, with his iron fan opened in between his teeth. It had already cut the corner of his mouth, but the grasp of his teeth around it made the iron crack. Hongjoong turned around in a perfect half spin, pushing his sword through his soldier’s opened, screaming mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his tongue sled out of his mouth like a swarm of maggots.

“Take the horse and go!” Yeosang shouted, placing the horse’s reins into Hongjoong’s palm, and grasping his shoulders right after.

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“No time to argue. Take the path up the mountain, and search for shelter. I will come after you. I swear.”

The reins burned Hongjoong’s hand. His throat went dry, and he knew no language. The pocket of his mind he kept for anxiety and doubt spilled itself all over his brain. Black spots appeared all over his vision. He felt the need to cry and cling like a helpless child.

Which is why he turned around, mounted his horse, and ran. Fast, until he became unable to tell the screams apart. Then slow, until he could see the yellow flags and banners collapsing under the weight of flames.


	15. Evanescent Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The feeling of helplessness inched in along his spine. At first it appeared in the shape of a nauseating pain in his stomach when he leaned forward and let it all happen."

For every tear Hongjoong shed, he crossed a small cut on his arm. The quieter it was around him, the more he struggled to maintain his composure. Fear whirled in his stomach and blurred his vision, making him forget the path he was supposed to take. His arm pulsated with blood clotting around the seven cuts. The only reason why he hated the feeling was that it sounded like seconds passing.

The trees above him were yet too dense, protecting him from the new snowfall. The squares of ground where the snow fell the thickest were easier to spot, so Hongjoong dismounted his horse and went off path, carefully guiding his horse through the rocks camouflaged under snow. “Gureum,” He said, gently. “It’s alright…it’s alright.”

Years ago, the only times he went through forests was when he was joined by at least ten other palace guards, and the only time he had ever been alone was in a dream. It was always daylight, and it never wintered. He blew in his palms to warm them up, keeping his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. Whenever the horse would make a pebble roll off, the short hairs in the back of Hongjoong’s neck perked up. His eyes were losing their focus easily, like he was about to faint right then and there.

Out from beneath the shield of trees the moon shone on him. He lifted his head to stare at her. He noticed that the more he did, the more the sky would gain colour, making the world below more discernible.

For the entire way, he spoke to himself. He recited Yeosang’s poems in his mind, he replayed his songs and the things he talked to him about. He remembered Mingi carrying barrels filled with water— one on each shoulder, and him and Jongho laughing at him, when in reality they were envious. He prayed for daylight in the form of memories that happened when the sun flashed, hoping it soon would. By the moon’s position in the sky, he’s learned that it was around the rabbit’s hour.

The cold in his eyes kept them wide awake. He had forgotten what others’ voices sounded like. The breath of the mountain penetrating through the leather of his boots ate away at his skin like termites. He looked up, and not too far from him he saw a rock formation that stretched across a thin river and the path near it, like a bridge. With his eyes on the untouched snow, Hongjoong headed towards it.

He dusted the snow off his hair, and off Gureum’s mane and saddle, drawing him closer to the centre of the bridge. “It’s aright…we’re alright…” He caressed him, then embraced him tightly. Gureum lowered his head, drawing Hongjoong closer. “We’ll be alright.”

When Hongjoong sat down, sinking his face to the crook of his elbow and praying, Gureum started circling him despite being given the signal to stay put. He nudged Hongjoong in attempt to cheer him up, and when that did not work, he licked his head, then nudged him again. Hongjoong cringed and yelped at the feeling, giving the horse a sharp glare, then softly shoving him. “Don’t do that again. I hate it.”

Hongjoong untied the bag from Gureum’s saddle and dropped it on the ground for him to use as a pillow. He cradled within himself, shoving his hands in between his thighs and crossing his ankles. He closed his eyes so that the next time he opened them it would be daylight.

But instead, he cried himself to sleep.

When he woke up it was indeed broad daylight. The dried tears on his cheeks made his entire face feel stiff. He was still alone and cold. He despised the tent he had been sleeping in for the past month more than anything, but that day he regretted not being grateful for it.

The view from under the stone bridge was surreal— white and blue for as long as he could see. A single string of a furnace smoke from very far away, and a dash of green from the sheltered stems. The rest was silver and smooth. With guilt, Hongjoong smiled.

But not for long. The desperate growl in his stomach made him want to slit it open.

The events from a night before began flooding in, one by one, and with that, his heart hammered in his chest to the point where his ribcage cracked with the blow of the vibrations.

He allowed Gureum to walk along freely, sniffing the snow, and kicking it around in search for grass. Hongjoong walked in the opposite direction of the river steam, climbing a low, rocky hill. If he had been well rested and fed, he would have run up that distance five times with no robes on. In the flash of the sun, he looked at his hands to find them white with dryness and filled with frostbite wounds. It stung to clench them. He gathered river water into his palms and drank greedily, then held his breath and splashed his face. When he felt the need to cry, he splashed his face again. And again, until his face and his hands went numb.

As he looked at his reflection in the water, he thought of things to do. Ideally, he would have wanted to search for food, but he knew nothing about surviving in the wild. Nor did he have the right supplies for it. A bow and arrows would have been ideal. Or an eye for spotting edible plants.

The feeling of helplessness inched in along his spine. At first it appeared in the shape of a nauseating pain in his stomach when he leaned forward and let it all happen. There was nothing in his stomach he could have vomited anyway. He tried to breathe through it, as calmly as it was humanly possible and for as long as his lungs would allow. Which was not that long. He felt like his lungs refused to take in air, which prompted him to breathe shortly, but fast, in sighs. With his teeth chattering and his every limb spasming out of their sockets, he tried closing his eyes and imagining good things. But the first thing he saw was the arrow that nearly set him on fire.

Not knowing how else to combat it besides drowning himself, he dunked his entire face in the river and forced it in there until his lungs begged him to breathe. He tipped his head back, mouth wide open for air, and wiped his eyes.

However, that had not worked either. With anger searing at his stomach, he tucked his collar in between his teeth, rolled his sleeve up, and aligned his sword with the veins of his wrist.

When he clenched his eyes shut and counted to three, he heard a slight rustle coming from the forest. He gasped, and turned around. There was nothing at first.

Then, in the far distance, he spotted a fluffy white fox with glimmering blue eyes, and something also white and also fluffy in its teeth. When he noticed the sword in Hongjoong’s hand, he dropped the creature in his teeth and dashed towards Hongjoong. The king dropped his sword and crawled on his palms and knees towards Yeosang, opening his arms for him. The fox dove into his arms, squeaking and yipping softly, its tail wagging wildly. Hongjoong embraced him breathlessly, kissing his fur. “You’re so warm,” He moaned painfully. Yeosang nuzzled to his neck, sniffing him all over, then suddenly dropped when he saw the multiple cuts from his wrist upwards. Even in his fox form, it was so obvious when Yeosang was both judging and worrying for him. He licked his cuts one by one, while Hongjoong patted his head. His eyes brimmed with tears, but he blinked them all away. When he finished, he rushed back to the small creature he carried in his mouth. Which was a white hare. Yeosang carried it back to Hongjoong’s shelter, not waiting for the king to follow.

It had taken quite a while for Hongjoong to register and get himself to stand up. When he arrived at the stone bridge, Yeosang had already metamorphosed back, once again jumping into Hongjoong’s arms and kissing him.

He also seemed to have cried, and he was hurt as well. The corner of his mouth was slightly bruised, his left hand was bandaged all over, and his ear had been nearly severed in half. There was only a red line across it which seemed to have been healing nicely. His robes were long stained with blood and had lost all of their lusted. But there had not been a single moment since Hongjoong laid eyes on Yeosang when the spirit was not beautiful.

Even when he frowned and scrunched up his nose while slicing the rabbit open, he was the most beautiful man Hongjoong’s ever seen. So beautiful, that he kissed his cheek while he deboned the hare.

With him he brought a quiver filled with arrows and a bow, plus a smaller bag of supplies. “We need to search for another place to stay after you finish.” Yeosang said, staring into the blue fire he made. He spiked the chunk of meat into the tip of the arrow and laid it above the flame at a safe distance, allowing the meat to cook. Within himself, Hongjoong was more dead than alive, too busy staring at Yeosang— the only reason he was still alive. “But you did well. Really.” Hongjoong nodded. “You haven’t really spoken to me.” He continued, with a sympathetic smile on. But he knew what awaited him.

“What happened?”

“Last night, or…”

“The entire story.”

Yeosang sighed. “Well…in my prophecy they were well prepared for the surprise night attack. I think you would have been victorious as well. But what was not meant to happen was…” He trailed off.

“…Yeori.”

“Yes. Hongjoong, I-”

“Don’t say sorry.”

“But I am.”

“You need not be.”

“There was supposed to be a rivalry between the two, but he…he was never meant to touch her. She had another fate.”

“But is she alright?”

“She is getting better, yes. I stole extra medical supplies just for her…before I came here…And, ah…And then…what I’ve done…that was not in the prophecy either…and I knew it was not. I knew, and I still did it.”

“I don’t think it mattered…People would have found out sooner or later. Sneaking in between tents day and night must have been very difficult. I would have understood if you slipped.” He picked the arrow with the smallest bit of meat and slowly twirled it around, cooking it evenly. “What of Jongho? And Mingi?”

Yeosang fell quiet, but not out of a bad memory. His eyes were still warm and more sorrowful. “We left…together…but we were being followed…then…they forced me to go find you while they draw Sungjo’s army away from you.”

“And- And how many men were after them?”

“Seven. I only killed two. And stole their supplies and arrows…However…before I parted ways with them, I gave them talismans for protection. It will not tell me where they are, but it will tell me if they are alive…And they are.”

Hongjoong smiled melancholically. “Is it strange how I never had to worry about them dying? I’ve always found this strange myself. I’ve always considered the possibility of me dying before them more likely than them ever dying…They are so powerful.”

“They are very powerful indeed. I’m happy they’ve always been with you. They protected me so fiercely too.” He poked the rabbit meat with his little finger to check the tenderness. “Here.”

Hongjoong blew over it several times before taking a small bite, savouring it to tears. He did not know if it was good or not. If Yeosang had fed him a boiled tree branch, he would have still eaten it. But in the end, he nodded. “It’s good. I think.”

Yeosang caressed his hair, tucking it behind his ear. “The weather will change a little today. I’m expecting more rain…We better move until it starts— But no need to rush. There is time.”

Hongjoong finished his last bite, and went to clean the arrow tip in the river before starting with the next one. 

“But Yeosang-ah,” The spirit hummed, picking up a new arrow, and drawing things in the stone dust. “Have we really made the right decision last night?”

“In no way would I have let you stay there. I never wanted to let you go on your own, but there were things I wanted to go back for.”

“…You stood behind to help my little brothers.”

Yeosang smiled. “I did.”

“And I did nothing for them.”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang laid his hand on Hongjoong’s thigh, cold at the touch. “You still haven’t realised how important you are to them. They are truly devoted to you.” 

“…I know.” He disgustedly looked at the rabbit meat, putting it away. His common sense did not allow him to greedily stuff his face while his little brothers could be starving.

“They knew about the night raid. I told them. And they were so grateful.”

“Why did you tell them and not me?”

“Well I didn’t tell them what Sungjo’s army was going to do. I told them that after you retreat to your tent to sleep, things were going to happen. And they knew right away what I meant, and they prepared for it…They really love you. You’re precious to them. And I so very much appreciate how much they entrust you with me.” His hand crawled up to Hongjoong’s hip, slowly, that the king had to look to make sure of his actions. His hand reached the small of his back, and rested there. Hongjoong exhaled. “The right decision was for you to make it out safely. Not only because you matter to us, but because that is part of the procedure. You gave us enough heart attacks for a month now. Putting yourself at risk out there. It won’t hurt if you sat back a little for now.”

Hongjoong took in that last sentence. He stared into the distance, at some insects trying to crawl up the stone wall, but failing. He stood up and went to look towards the path he took the night before, tracing it with his eyes until he could not follow it anymore. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” He clenched his fists, his untrimmed nails poking his palms, but he felt nothing due to numbness. “I feel like this is where it all begins. I cannot afford to step back now of all moments.” From the top of the stone bridge, snow melted in droplets like crystals when the sun flashed through them. A flock of birds flew in circles around each other as if searching for lost dance partners; then they chased each other while chirping their freedom away. “Let’s go.” He said, shouldering the quiver and picking up the bow. Yeosang bowed his head with a smile, gathering up the bags and preparing for departure. “When we get there…Yeosang-ah…I need you to teach me how to make a fire…and…search for things.”

“I will?”

“But do you know where we’re going?” Hongjoong asked, wrapping the horse’s reins around his hand and guiding him out.

“I do.”

“You’ve been here before, then.”

“Oh, San and I lived here for about ten years. If not more. I don’t think there is a mountain in this country we haven’t lived on.”

“What’s it called?”

“This mountain range is called Taebaeksan. It stretches very close to the sea, and you’ll find plenty of shamanist altars stretched across the peaks. Some were built by Master Yunho.” Yeosang informed, then he smiled slyly. “Would you like to know why he built them?”

“When you smile like that, no, but tell me.”

“He wanted to keep me away from the mountains. He performed protection rituals where he summoned other spirits to defend the mountain from me. You can imagine that all I did the entire day was to pray and sew.”

Hongjoong puffed out a laugh. Yeosang’s eyebrows perked up, not having expected for what he said to be funny, but his heart floated in his chest when he heard the lovely sounds that came out of Hongjoong’s mouth when he was happy. “You sounded like an old woman.”

“I did, didn’t I? I had to stay hidden for so long. Solitude and all.”

“It’s strange. I haven’t seen much of the shaman’s rage towards you.”

“I think it has a lot do to with you, to be honest.” The spirit said, gently snapping his fingers, making his flute miraculously appear in his and behind a flurry of white feathers. “Everyone would raise an eyebrow if they saw anyone joined by the king…and…Master Yunho told me you defended me.” Hongjoong nodded. “…Thank you.”

“You thank me for the stupidest of things.”

“Stop reproaching me for being nice to you and be quiet.”

“Are you about to play?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll behave.”

The snowflakes and the uncovered leaves were carried right by the wind, towards where the ghost village was. Yeosang closed his eyes and inhaled the winter. Snow melted on the apple of his right cheek. He lifted his hands in the air with his fingers spread, then slowly tilted it as if someone was holding it. Then he aligned his mouth with the flute’s mouthpiece and began playing.

Shiver after shiver crossed paths with Hongjoong’s muscles and veins and tissues. For a moment, there was no air to breathe. Until he heard Yeosang’s song coming from everywhere, like the air had been replaced with his music. Snow went still, and so did the pine tops. Until it fell again, but in the opposite direction, falling as droplets against Hongjoong’s left cheek.

Yeosang’s song bloomed from the ground and descended from the sky. Had he been on the other side of the mountain chain, he would have still been able to hear it as if he was near. It was precious like undiscovered irons and metals, unworthy of human ears. It made Hongjoong want to fly to the centre of the snowfall and let Yeosang’s song pour over him until he froze in time and returned as a spirit. He felt the winter going into hibernation and subduing into spring. Yeosang playing without stopping— the wind blew through the flute, and he only shifted his fingers. The song was like the last day of a victorious war, where men could smile and slam their helmets into the ground, pray in peace, and sometimes cry. Yeosang played a song for returning home. For looking to your right, and seeing the one you love the most alive, standing, and divine.

As Yeosang lowered the flute and sighed, Hongjoong looked at his lips as he did, swallowing in vain, then followed the steam of his breath dissipating like white butterflies. He stared as if through a trance. He was beautiful in a much different way than he was when Hongjoong first saw him. He had gradually lost his etherealness and fictional perfection, and now he was more human. He was tired and hurt and so much more human. When Yeosang looked back at him, Hongjoong’s eyes hung low, at the blue flute. “What do you call it?” He asked after the song settled in, pointing at the instrument.

“…A transverse flute?”

“I meant…Does it have a name?”

“Oh.” Yeosang blinked. “It does not.”

“You should name it, since it’s so sacred.”

Hongjoong took the flute from him, examining it like it was the first time. He walked his fingers over the softly carved lotus flowers onto its body, and petals flying away towards the mouthpiece. It was vividly pigmented like expensive silk. “How about you name it?” Yeosang asked.

The king fell quiet while he thought. Yeosang let him keep the flute for the moment, ignoring him while he played with the instrument. They began their walk towards only where Yeosang knew, while Hongjoong tossed the flute into the air, skilfully spinning it like a spear, and using it to shake the snow off the pine branches. A part of him waited for Yeosang to scold him and demand his flute back, but he had not even looked his way. From that gesture alone it warmed Hongjoong’s heart to know how much he trusted him with it.

In a flat, smooth patch of snow, with the end of the flute Hongjoong drew the two characters for ‘lily’. He smiled at Yeosang and said: “Nari…Its name.”

“…Nari,” Yeosang pronounced it slowly, then with his eyes he traced the strokes of the characters in snow. Some got mingled together from being too close, and in the end the name was just a small hole in the snow. Hongjoong drew them again, bigger. “I like it.”

“Unless you want a nobler one.”

Yeosang shook his head. “If you named it Nari, then it’s Nari.” 

“But I could think of a better one.”

“…If you named it Nari…then it’s Nari.” He took his flute back, softly tapping it once against Hongjoong’s head. He wanted to snatch it back, but Yeosang was quicker and made it fade. Hongjoong’s hand remained still and offended in the air, so Yeosang kissed it and held it as they walked. “I could do a little something that I would find sweet, but you’d find disgusting.” 

“And what’s that?”

“I could,” Yeosang said, entwining his fingers together with Hongjoong, all happy and giddy for his own good. “Perform an official naming ritual for Nari, and have no one, but us, who know its name be able to play it.”

Hongjoong sighed. “You’re right. It is disgusting…Do it.” Hongjoong peeked at him, then looked back down, thoughtful. “You sure enjoy displaying affection in the most creative ways.”

Yeosang smiled, taking all the guilt and blame. The next time Hongjoong looked at him, his face became expressionless. His eyes were too tired to read anything in his face, but his instincts told him to be sympathetic nonetheless. He squeezed Yeosang’s hand twice, but the spirit only squeezed it back once, sketching a little smile. “I hope you know that…the reason I’m talking to you…is to take your mind off things. And maybe…maybe try to calm you down.”

“…What makes you think you had to confirm me this?”

“Just,” Yeosang held back. He scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “I don’t want it to appear like I am neglecting you and invalidating your feelings. Because that’s not what I’m doing.”

“I know you better than this.”

Yeosang waited, studying his face. After he deemed Hongjoong entirely sincere, he nodded, and went on. “I still don’t know when you need cheering up…or when you need me to ask about what you feel…or when you want me to distract you.”

Hongjoong acknowledged what Yeosang said with a short nod, and thought. “Distract me…Please distract me.” He said, never having expressed despair so vividly.

“Does this…distraction method of yours have anything to do with the many cuts on your arm?”

“So what if it does?”

“If it does, then…please seek my help. Please come to me. Don’t hurt yourself for it.”

Embarrassed beyond his own limits, Hongjoong withdrew his hand, holding it clenched instead.

  
“Hongjoong,” Yeosang said. The king was several steps ahead of him. When he turned around, Yeosang pointed to his left, towards the right way. He was aware Hongjoong wanted a moment alone, but he did not know if he necessarily needed one. They had not walked for so long, but the uneven ground made it seem like it took them twice as much.

Yeosang rushed inside a cave with the cheerfulness of a child, leaning his fingers on the stone walls, smiling when they’d glow at his touch. He searched the depths of it for any small creatures inhabiting the corners and shadows, and drew the stones away towards the edges for a place to rest comfortably. “Do you…need help?” Hongjoong asked awkwardly.

“Look,” Yeosang said, illuminating blue the back wall of the cave. There sat some carved drawings of what appeared to be buildings of different sizes, all encased in a bigger square. “Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t know, the capital?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“This is the palace. And those small things you see here are the city. I did this in my sleep. And I drew what I dreamt. This was a few days before San hyungnim and I had moved there.”

“How long ago was this?”

“…Centuries. Can’t tell you how many.” When he drew his hand away, the carvings ceased glowing. Smiling melancholically one more time, he then turned to face Hongjoong with a much more serious expression. “Let me show you around.”

Hongjoong nodded, wordlessly following him. He allowed Gureum to walk around as he pleased while they explored their surroundings. He put all of his available mental prowess into listening to what Yeosang said, although there were times when he found himself distracted by the sound of his voice alone. “The inner cambium layer of most evergreen trees here—like the birch or spruce one, is edible, and you can use the shavings and the peeled layers on top to make a fire, as they burn easily.” Hongjoong nodded, absorbing information like an already wet cloth. When Yeosang moved onto the edible plants around the area, and where to find them, he found Hongjoong looking away from him, at the stems and branches poking out from underneath the snow. He said nothing at first, but then asked Hongjoong to repeat what he said. After a long pause of Hongjoong eyeing him guiltily and remembering every word of Yeosang's as visibly as flipping pages through a notebook, he recreated everything he said, word by word. Yeosang smiled proudly, but when he turned around and started his short lesson about fire making, Hongjoong cussed him in his mind for not praising him. Hungry for recognition, he collected the things Yeosang had mentioned earlier, trudged his way back to the cave, and dropped the branches and twigs onto the ground where he encircled them with stones. He placed the tree shavings in a nest-like shape, then into a flatter piece of softwood he dug an indentation with a sharper rock as a fire starter. It wasn’t quite the way Yeosang explained, but it was fruitful, although with the frown on his face he looked like his nerves were about to catch fire before the wood. His face brightened at the first trace of smoke, then he continued ambitiously until the first spark. “I did it,” He whispered, leaning over the fire to softly blow over it. “I did it!”

“You did it.” Yeosang clapped softly. In his heart he was most impressed and proud, although his lack of expression met him with a crestfallen Hongjoong. “I don’t know which impresses me more,” He began, taking a seat next to the king. “How quick you learn and how your mind works…Or how stubborn you get when you try to impress me and you get sad when I don’t praise you.”

Hongjoong frowned. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Am I free to go, then?”

“No. Stay.” Hongjoong mumbled. Yeosang kissed away the frown on his face. “What was that for?”

“You did really well. I’m proud.”

“I know that.”

“Can I go-”

“Stay.”

“I’ll stay.” Yeosang said, throwing in bits of tree shavings that he ripped into tiny pieces. The fire was growing nicely at a steady pace. “Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

Hongjoong shook his head. He took the thinnest twig in the pile, lifting it up and watched it burn. “I thought I had it all under control. But I do not.”

“Is there someone who does?”

“You seem to.”

“No. I think I act so calmly because I like it here…Caves exude comfort for me. This is where I…revitalise and replenish my energy.” Yeosang said, gloomily. Hongjoong hummed in response, throwing the twig back before it reached too close to his fingers. “But you…I don’t think you’re so comfortable here.”

“If you’re comfortable…then I’m comfortable too.”

Yeosang leaned his cheek against Hongjoong’s shoulder, and the king rested his head against Yeosang’s. His hand stealthily found Hongjoong’s thigh, keeping there unmoving at a decent distance. The king held his hand tightly, then loosely, and they sat in silence for only they knew how long. They stole head and cheek kisses from each other when they did so little as to miss the other’s presence. It was like they were in a sealed pocket in the Universe where there was no time and no foreign voices, but at the walls of his pocket knocked a darker presence that they were both aware of. Their minds were filled with the same thoughts, in the exact same order. It was their tiredness of real life that stopped them from speaking, as if when they opened their mouths, they erupted a new wave of war and anxiety.

“…What if we took advantage of this day?…Would it be irresponsible of me if I suggested this?” Yeosang asked unwillingly. He was aware of Hongjoong’s recent breathing problems, and he wanted to be of help to him as much as he could without the king feeling the need to mention it. He knew Hongjoong hated appearing weak in front of him, but even more, he hated when he expressed so much, all at once.

“And do what?” Hongjoong whispered, kissing Yeosang’s head one more time.

“We have a mountain just for us. You could do whatever you wanted. And I’ll be there with you…When we come back, we can talk about what we do tomorrow.”

“What if I don’t want to talk about what we do tomorrow?” Sometimes Hongjoong said things in such a manner that was not tailored for him. Sometimes he spoke like there was another voice in him. More childish and stubborn, but not _his_ kind of stubbornness. He spoke like a spoiled child who had to be dealt with carefully.

“I know, but,” Yeosang shifted. When Hongjoong lifted his head to look at him, Yeosang stood up, walking in slow circles around the cave. Outside was still snowing. “I need to know what you want to do.”

“What I want to do?”

“Do you-” Yeosang struggled to speak. It was as if he already knew what Hongjoong was about to say, but he was afraid of hearing it. “Do you want us to stop here? Do you want us to run away, find a place where we can be alone and forget about it all?”

“Yeosang, what are you saying?”

“I’m asking you what is it that you want to spend the rest of your days doing. Because I need to know.”

“With the number of times you preached about duty…All you knew was duty…Putting it first and you second…and now you are giving me the option to give up.”

“I don’t want you to give up. I will never encourage you to give up. But I feel what you feel, and I- I don’t know what to do to stop it. I…There was a time when I could make you strong…When I could bring out the stubbornness and ambition in you…But now I can’t do that anymore.”

“Who said you can’t?”

“…That’s just how I feel.”

“But do you want me to run away with you?”

“No. I don’t. I really don’t. Allow me to be selfish and say that if you did that, I would hate myself for a very long time. But at the same time, it hurts me so much to see you like this. It hurts to see you going through this, that I don’t know what to do.”

“You know I could say the same thing about you, right?” Hongjoong stood up, walking over to Yeosang and taking his shaking hands. “You can contradict me if you want, but I know for sure that none of this has to do with you. This is not your issue, and this is not your family…And despite this, you chose to stay by my side, and suffer when I suffer…You really think I would let this all be for naught?” Hongjoong shook his head, smiling. “I won’t. I will honour you. You take pain differently than we do, and you might think it’s bad because this is not your pain. But I. I can get through it. Yes, it hurts, and yes I will cry. But I will get through it. And you are the reason I am able to overcome it.” Yeosang opened his mouth to contradict him, shaking his head, but Hongjoong continued. “It is true. If you were able to do so much for me…I can do this much for you.” He smiled. “You spoil me. I know you do. You've worked so hard to assure that I am still able to live in luxury although I was miserable. Seeing all of this to an end, and listening to you…from time to time, is the best reward I have.” He cupped Yeosang’s cheek as the spirit nodded, and kissed his forehead. “But one day…I’ll force you to tell me what you want.”

“Force me?”

“Yes. Because you never do. So I’ll have to force you to tell me, so I can give it to you.”

“Oh.” Yeosang chuckled, and Hongjoong did so together with him. From there, Hongjoong agreed to spend the rest of the day like he wanted to spend his every single one. They walked in the snow while holding hands, tossed each other to the ground in an attempt to fight and wrestle, then Yeosang shapeshifted into his vulpine form, and Hongjoong chased after him with a snowball always ready to throw at him. When the fox was too far and Hongjoong gasped for air, he cheated and tossed him a stick for him to fetch, but Yeosang didn’t fall for it. He stared at the snow, tilting his head left and right while his fluffy ears twitched, after which he jumped, burying his head underneath the snow to catch whatever lied beneath. Hongjoong laughed earnestly at the fox trying to pull its head out of the snow, then angrily digging through the snow to find nothing. He skipped his way back to Hongjoong, then lowered his head in demand to brush away all the snow and soil from its silver fur. Hongjoong picked the fox up in his arms, burying his face through his fur to warm his nose up. “I could make a blanket out of you.” Hongjoong joked, but Yeosang growled at him nonetheless. The fox licked his ear, which made Hongjoong cringe at the feeling and letting the fox go. He ran as much as his little feet could hold, turning his head back to see if Hongjoong was following him. And he did, although Yeosang would not abide by the rules. He was smaller, and able to blend in with the scenery, so from a game of tag it became one of hide and seek. The physical effort made Hongjoong’s hands and cheek feel hot. He untied his robe and let it flow open like a cloak, then resumed his search. He had lost every possible direction of the cave. Around him, the trees were tall and thin and at equal distance, similar to cage bars. But from there came a feeling of liberty instead, like he was on the other side of the said bars. He explored the infinity laid before him with slow steps, looking to his left and right in case he’d spot the love of his life. As he walked he was met with a little groove in the snow next to a patch fully uncovered by winter. Out from there the head of a little black snake poked out, flicking its tongue out at the snow before sinking his mouth into it and drinking slowly. Hongjoong exhaled softly, beaming at the little creature which surely observed him, but was not afraid.

“Looking at other snakes behind my back, are you?” Yeosang teased. He had once again shifted into his serpentine form, winding up around Hongjoong’s leg.

“I would never.” The king uncoiled him, picking him up the same way he would pick up a boiled noodle.

Yeosang lowered his body to see the black snake closer. “Hello, friend.” He said, and the other snake crawled back into its hole in the ground.

“I thought snakes don’t like the cold.” 

“We don’t. The little one was just drinking before going back to sleep.”

“And you scared it.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Hongjoong kept him around his arm, but Yeosang made his way up to his chest, then he rubbed his cheek against his neck. “Why are you around me, again? Because you got jealous?”

“I am unfamiliar with the feeling.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you enough to know that there isn’t ever going to be a snake you’ll be brave enough to touch, like you do with me.”

“Is it really the snakes you worry about?”

“Yes.”

“No humans at all?”

“I haven’t seen you looking at anyone else the same way you look at me. So I don’t think I have to worry about it. But I do love it. The concept of jealousy. It’s very human. I wish I could experience it…Have you ever?”

“Not very intensely. But I have. It doesn’t feel nice. I don’t wish it upon you.” Yeosang leaned his head on Hongjoong’s palm, burying his face in there like a cat spoiling itself, while Hongjoong caressed his scales. “Are we going back now?”

“We don’t have to. There’s a lot to explore here.”

Hongjoong nodded, and proceeded to walk where he had not yet dug footsteps, with a restless Yeosang crawling all over him. Once, he sunk his head through Hongjoong’s hair, then he nuzzled to his neck, then he somehow ended up all around his waist, chasing his own tail. Sometimes Hongjoong stopped when his hearing would play tricks on him. The mountain was eerily quiet, although they were not very high up. His mind tried to fabricate sounds, and the white would melt into much darker colours, sometimes into human figures. But when he looked, there was nothing. He had found a different path than the one before, where the snow had been patted down by pairs of small paws. Yeosang flicked his tongue at even intervals, sidewinding in the air as if on smooth ground. He let out a puff of air, displeased when the prey escaped from his sight. He followed the rabbit tracks, not paying enough attention to where it led him. If Yeosang was calm and relaxed around his shoulders, then so was he, although he leaned down and sniffed the ground with his tongue, turning around to look at Hongjoong upside down when the king would laugh.

On the side of the road there was a small construction, indistinguishable from the distance. As they approached it, they saw a little tiled roof underneath thin heaps of snow, red pillars, and an old painting of a coiled snake. It was a shrine, smaller than San’s. Underneath the painting there was an incense burner, and next to it, a jade statuette of a snake. Hongjoong would have walked past it, had not Yeosang turned around to admire it. “What’s this?” He asked.

Upon further inspection, he understood what he was looking at. He lowered his head so he could read the little plaque over the painting which red ‘He who controls the winds with the sound of his flute, Eunbaem’. “…It’s yours.” Hongjoong confirmed for himself. Yeosang hid behind Hongjoong, crawling off him. He switched between forms again intending to keep moving, hoping the king would follow him. But Hongjoong had other plans. He dropped down, digging his knees into the snow, and clapped his palms together.

Yeosang fell in love with Hongjoong as many times as rainclouds carried raindrops. But he had never felt it so tangibly. His heart broke with how Hongjoong’s trousers soaked up the snow, and his fingers trembled as he prayed. He wanted to tell him to stop and to tell him directly if he had any wishes. But behind Hongjoong’s gestures there were many meanings. Many of which were precisely the reason why Yeosang would die his death a thousand times.

  
_Please, I wish for no snowstorms this winter. I want it to be gentle to the travellers, merchants, and those who struggle._

_Please, may my two little brothers be alive and unharmed, and let us reunite when we need each other the most._

_Please keep my future son safe and healthy, until I will be able to hold him and name him as my own._

_And please, Eunbaem, help me not lose focus on my goal. Keep my vulnerabilities and fears away until I am safe enough to express them in a better place_

Before he finished with his prayers and wishes, Yeosang quickly turned around to wipe his tear. He smiled at Hongjoong when he stood up, but the king was still not done. He cleared all the snow from the shrine’s roof and pillars, then checked if there was any joss paper left. After he saw everything in order, he smiled. “Now I’m done. Sorry.”

Yeosang nodded. He had never seen anyone praying to him in his presence. Other spirits described the feeling as witnessing an intimate moment. Until that moment, he had not believed it. He was also told that he should never thank anybody for praying to them, as it was seen as embarrassing for one’s self. While Hongjoong caught up with him, the spirit thought of ways to show his gratitude, and as he did, he realised it was not for praying that he wanted to thank the king for, but for finally disproving everyone for being accused of disrespecting the spirit. “…I will see that all of your wishes are granted.”

“I know.” Hongjoong smiled.

Yeosang smiled back, hanging his head low towards the ground, bashfully. Heat blossomed on the tip of his nose and his cheeks. “Should we…head back?” He lifted his head towards the sky. “I should go hunt something for you soon.”

“Take me with you.”

“I will be quicker on my own.”

Hongjoong groaned. He was about to protest, but then he remembered the limited number of arrows they had. “I’ll…wait for you, then.”

With Yeosang gone, Hongjoong cleared the cinders from the makeshift fireplace and made another fire. It had stopped snowing temporarily, but when it started the second time, it was joined by rain. A shiver of discomfort ran down Hongjoong’s spine while he scrutinised the view. He had not heard or seen anything out of the ordinary, but what he felt then was similar to hearing a tap against the floor behind you at night. His instincts were not afire yet; it was only his curiosity which told him to turn around. He took a deep breath and whistled softly. Until the presence behind him was gone.

He was never offered the opportunity to be so detached from the world. From big buildings, from people, from socialising. In that short moment alone he had then he realised how good it felt. They had played in the snow for hours probably, spending much longer than that talking, yet the sun never seemed to have moved from where it was.

Yeosang returned with a rabbit and a squirrel that time. Not bleeding, but evidently long dead. He set them down on the ground, kneeling before the two. Before he grabbed his dagger to commence his preparations, he said a short prayer. “Turn around.”

The king listened with no further comment. He looked at his faded shadow created by the fire. In the depth of the cave, the sun could not reach. With his eyes closed, he let the fire caress warmth onto his back. “What if I’ll never see them again?”

Being turned around did not help, as he was still exposed to the sounds of blade cutting through flesh and bones breaking apart. Sounds he was all too familiar with. “I have a strong feeling you will.”

Hongjoong was never going to be able to express how much he trusted Yeosang’s gut feeling. His instincts were as valuable as the absolute truth.

“They’ve always been closer with each other than they were with me. They thought of each other as best friends before they thought of me as one…I’ve always been envious of that. Of how I did not have anyone to share secrets with as they shared with each other…I wish they would call me ‘hyung’ too, like Jongho calls Mingi…But neither of them have ever called me ‘hyung’.”

“I, too, have always felt remorseful when I call your name so informally. So I understand why they refuse to. It has always fascinated me how you love and hate being king so much. How you love the luxury you were born in, but you also love how others live their lives. You’ve always wanted a bit of everything.”

“…I did. But right now…I have nothing. I am nothing. What am I? A traveller?”

“No. You are king. Off duty and crownless, but still king.”

Yeosang cut of the flesh in even pieces, then washed the blood and other fluids off them in the river before spiking them and leaving them to roast on their own. Hongjoong found nothing about that nauseating, until Yeosang grabbed the remaining organs in his hands like they were piles of leaves, throwing them out wherever they have had landed. Just like that morning, Yeosang seated himself beside him with his cheek on his shoulder, eyes closed. The sudden change of temperature made Hongjoong feel weary, in contrast to how his heart beat so rapidly. He had no appetite to eat, but he did more for the sake of still having been given the mercy of not starving. Yeosang’s head on his shoulder felt heavier than it did other times, but not in a discomforting way. It was a comfortable weight, heavy enough to be able to carry both in his heart and arms. They spoke even when their lips were sealed, and they were always the centrepiece of each other’s vision even when their eyes were closed.

“Can I hear you say it?” Hongjoong mumbled.

Had it not been for the soft sleet outside isolating the sounds, Yeosang would not have heard him. “Say what?” He replied, not lifting his head. Hongjoong was staring into space. His eyes were a mirror to the fire, and the light brought out the tired lines on his face. “What is it that you want me to say?” He tried again, but Hongjoong would say nothing more. He brought his hands together on his lap to keep them from expressing his fear. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged himself tight. Yeosang touched his robe, thinking he was still feeling cold.

“Do you remember…the first time you saw me cry…” Yeosang nodded. “I told you…that I’m grateful for you,” Hongjoong’s lips cracked a little smile. He kept his eyes closed for two seconds, like he was trying to reimagine it, then opened them again. “But I wanted to say something else.” He looked down, and hugged his knees. “But I was too afraid.”

_So was I_ , Yeosang thought. His lips threatened to smile when he remembered. And the disappointment he felt when Hongjoong said the opposite of what he had expected back then. “That you love me?”

Hongjoong’s shoulders jolted up as if shot by an arrow, and dropped his forehead to his knees. Ne nodded sheepishly. “I do love you.”

“And I, you.” Yeosang kissed his cheek through his hair. “I love you too.”

Hongjoong nodded again, revealing his eyes only. By the apples of his cheeks, Yeosang could tell his face was too warm. “…Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“But I told you this many times before. Have I ever made you feel unloved?”

Hongjoong shook his head vigorously. “No, really, just…I just wanted to hear you say it. That’s all.” His lips were overcome by tremors. A shiver crept around the upper right of Yeosang’s abdomen. Hongjoong hardly ever stuttered like that. Yeosang wondered if he was trying not to cry, although he did not look like he felt the need to. “I just…I don’t think I’ve ever heard myself saying this before…I love you…” He broke off, biting his lip. “No. I’ve never uttered these words before.” He looked out of the cave, at the sleet coming to an end. “…Nor have I ever heard anyone say it.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright, I —Wait, for what?”

Yeosang thought, leaning his head back on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “I feel guilty that you had to tell me to say it. I just looked for better ways to express it.” And he spoke quite tragically, as if he apologised for a crime.

Until Hongjoong banged his head against his. “You’re augmenting it. I said it’s alright. You don’t have to say it again.”

“No, I will. If it makes you feel better and safer, then I’ll say it.”

“Alright, then.”

“I love you.”

“…Alright.”

“Are you shy now?”

“No, just…I was wondering why it takes so much to say these words. Why is it that it takes so much courage and so much momentum, and when the perfect time comes, your tongue stumbles in your mouth and your lips go numb…Why?”

“Ask yourself before you ask me. Take this moment. What is stopping you from saying it back to me, when you have already said it once?— Do you cringe when you say it? Does your manly pride crack when you show emotion?”

“Goodness, you sounded just like Yeori.”

“Humans being fragile little things is one thing Yeori and I have always agreed on.— Now tell me.”

“Ah. I don’t know. I suppose it’s both of those reasons. I do cringe. And it does hurt my pride…If I was stronger like you, I would let my heart take over. I would say those words freely. But now I cannot afford to do that. I need to seal this heart of mine away from my conscience, and I need to return to the same mindset I had when I left for the fight…My heart had lost its power, then…So if from now on you will ever say you love me, and I will not say it back…Please do not take it to heart. Know that I do. More than anything. You, above everything else. You, above me too. Forgive me in advance for not being able to return those words to you. But I will, however, never stop showing you how much you mean to me…And when we go back to the palace…I will return those words to you for every time I could not. And I will be the one to say it first too.” Hongjoong stared into the dancing flames as he spoke, soft and monotonous, but sincere as he hardly ever was. But when he looked towards Yeosang, the spirit seized the moment and kissed him.

“There’s nothing I need to forgive. I know you well enough.”

Hongjoong kissed him back, then shifted to lean his head on Yeosang’s lap. They sat in silence for a short while with only the crackling of the fire to accompany them. “It feels nice having someone like this.”

“Like what?” The spirit asked, taking a lock of Hongjoong’s hair, dividing it in three even parts, and braiding it.

“Someone who knows me well…It feels nice not having to, I don’t know, justify everything you do.”

Yeosang set down the first braid, then picked another lock of hair, running his fingers through it to smoothen it. Hongjoong closed his eyes. “You know, often when you slept, I looked into your past lives.”

Hongjoong scoffed. “I was everything, but put in a position of power, right?”

“No. You’d be surprised. Your soul is about as old as mine. You were only in positions of leadership in your past lives, from the owner of several business, to the head of a governmental legal force, to military commander. But none of those compare to what you do in this life. I believe,” Yeosang said softly, tucking the braid behind Hongjoong’s ear, leaning down to kiss his temple. “In this life you are just a little tired.”

“…A little, you say.”

“Very tired.”

“But were you truthful about what you said?”

“I was. All you did since you were born the first time was to lead.”

“And in this one…I don’t want to lead anymore.”

“But you don’t want to be led either.”

“I do not.”

“What would you like to do?”

“To run.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I would just run until my muscles would catch fire, until my throat would not be able to catch up with my heart. I love that feeling. Filled with adrenaline and panting and falling down tired.”

“That sounds very like you.”

Hongjoong turned around to face the ceiling of the cave, playing with Yeosang’s hair like the spirit played with his. “What about you?”

“Well…If what you want to do is to run, then I will be the one holding your robe and waiting for you.”

Hongjoong let the piece of hair untangle itself from around his finger while he analysed Yeosang’s face. “The question was what you would like to do in this life instead.”

“And I told you what.” 

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

“You’re underestimating how long I have been alive for. I have a lot of hidden talents I have never had a chance to show you. And I speak languages you never knew I spoke. My goal for the eternity was to become omniscient. To understand the world on a superior level, and to answer every question there was to answer. And for now I believe I have. I cannot tell you how much I’ve read and studied and learned…What I want to do in the near future is to look at you doing what you love most.”

Hongjoong looked like he wanted to smile his heart away, but it may have been the pride in him which had averted it. He nodded, gratefully. “What am I to you?” He said suddenly, his eyes switching from Yeosang’s eyes to his lips. “Since I am the first thing present in your future, what do I mean to you?” By his tone, Yeosang felt like he said that out of spite, to see if he truly had an answer to every question ever posed. And the question at hand was like a literary motif, recurring at times when they lost the meaning of each other. _What am I to you? What do you see me as? What would you want the world to know us as?_

When Hongjoong noticed Yeosang was taking his time with answering, he lifted himself up and forced his sharp glare onto him. Yeosang’s reluctance in answering often lead to digressing from the subject, but in that moment Hongjoong was determined. Until he finally looked at Yeosang again. He touched Hongjoong’s cheek, staring into the fire reflecting sun rays in his eyes. He smiled, then he didn’t. And just like that, he wrote volumes of poems about the answers he wanted to give. What Hongjoong meant to him were pages and fine brushstrokes. “You are the only person in the world I have ever had the courage to raise a child with.” He said, walking his finger from Hongjoong’s cupid’s bow to his lips, then leaning his hand back down.

Hongjoong expected one word. His silly, human brain expected trivialities like ‘lover’, ‘bosom friend’, ‘lifelong partner’. Within himself he smiled, thinking about how he had once again fallen into the trap of thinking he could have ever beaten Yeosang at word expression. He could not, and he would never be able to. The soles of his feet stung like they ran barefoot onto summer plains. In his mind he was already running, he was wearing a red robe with nothing underneath, with Yeosang waiting for him as promised, but behind him was a little one, also running, waiting for Hongjoong to catch him. His senses recalled what the babe’s soft skin felt like. Regret filled his eyes with tears for he hadn’t held him when he had the chance.

When Hongjoong left for the rebellion, he thought of Yeosang as profusely as holding a good luck charm in his hand. He knew the spirit was to join him, and he knew how he felt about the lack of order, anarchy, and violence. Hongjoong prepared himself for it. Had Yeosang ever lost hope, Hongjoong was ready to reassure him with ‘We have a son to go back to’.

Yeosang wiped his tear, saying nothing. But Hongjoong knew him better than he knew himself. If Yeosang spoke, he would have told him to find a better moment to show his vulnerability. He would have told him to trust him and to listen to him.

“What about me?” Yeosang asked quietly. “What am I in your eyes?”

“My king.” Hongjoong said right away. His eyes and heart poured into Yeosang’s entire being as the spirit’s shoulders and brows became rigid with shock. “If I am this country’s king, then, Yeosang, you are mine…You’re my king.” With words frozen underneath his tongue, Yeosang did not know where to avert his eyes next. Hongjoong took his hand, melting away everything that was lifeless in him.

“…You shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Like what? I just answered your question. You have no right to correct me. That won’t change my view on you.” Hongjoong said in the tone that he knew that Yeosang reacted the quickest to. His most stubborn, arrogant one. But Yeosang only smiled ruefully, shaking his head.

“You win this time."

“I always win.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

Yeosang chuckled softly, blinking the glassiness from his eyes away, and pulling Hongjoong into his arms. “No, you don’t.” And squeezed him until his bones pressed against his palms.

“Yes, I do.” Smiling, Hongjoong cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“No, you only win when I let you.” Yeosang rubbed his nose against Hongjoong, then tucked his head underneath his chin, cradling him tightly for as long as the king would not protest. Long moments passed, of them just smiling into each other’s skin, and filling their lungs with each other’s scents. Less sweet than they remembered, but if they closed their eyes, every intake of breath bore words that shaped the memories of the past month.

Yeosang leaned back against the wall, still with Hongjoong in his arms, soothing him to rest. He touched him softly, but underneath his hand he was able to feel the blood coursing through him, the air circulating in his lungs, and the rhythm of his heartbeats. _You win_ , Yeosang thought, smiling. _You always win, king._ He lied his cheek on Hongjoong’s head, staring into space, at the rain quarrelling with the snow over which would fall last. For Yeosang, the weather was what fortunetelling meant for humans.

A soft rustle and a whisper came from lower on the mountain path. An inaudible sound to Hongjoong, but as loud as fireworks for Yeosang. His arms twitched around Hongjoong, as he opened his eyes and stared worryingly at the spirit. That worry submerged into an unsettling shiver when he saw Yeosang’s eyes bright and elliptical. “What’s wrong?”

Yeosang stood up and took his iron fan tightly into his hand. “I heard someone.”

Hongjoong grabbed his sword and followed him even before Yeosang had the time to tell him to stay behind. They laid low behind the heaps of snow, their senses enhanced. Yeosang’s eyes were as still as a serpent waiting for the right second to charge at its prey that even the ghost of his breath feared him. “Stay here.”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not exactly blending in, you know.” Yeosang said, looking at Hongjoong’s hair.

Hongjoong ducked his head, and through a subtle gesture, he allowed Yeosang to go.

Down the mountain, around the base, was a thin cloak of mist generated by the yet unpredictable weather. As he slithered his way through the forest, he kept his feet above the ground. The soft crunch of the snow he heard came from more than a pair of feet, but as he approached the source of the sound, the voices stopped. He heard two abrupt breathing patterns. Leaning his palm against the snow, lowering his head, he held his fan open ready to throw. Through the whiteout he stealthily walked to the source of those breaths, still undetectable, but as he clenched his teeth, ready to lour at the tall man lying beyond the fog, Yeosang opened his eyes wide, gasping. The tall figure grasped him by the throat and tossed him to the ground, cuffing out all the breath in his lungs. His wrists were pinned down, dug into the snow, but then the grip suddenly softened. “Your Lordship?!”

Yeosang exhaled. “Mingi.”


	16. Him, Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have to go as far as your legs can take you. When you cannot take it, hide. But never stop.”

“You should have seen him!” Jongho shouted, pointing the bird bone in his hand towards Mingi. “He stole torches and set fire to the gates, then he took the horse, and he ran! He ran, and while he was being chased, he turned around and stood up— still on the horse, and even though it was dark, he still shot them!”

Hongjoong had been unable to say anything to them since they’ve met. He was shocked with relief, unable to fathom how much he had been thinking and worrying about them, while they laughed about how they almost died. They were safe, uninjured, fearless. And inhuman.

They sat around the fire while stuffing their faces with wildlife meat and fried eggs, which the two had stolen from a farm before arriving there. Earlier they had reenacted how Mingi got tackled to the ground and strangled, and how he tossed the man off him and twisted his neck. He demonstrated this on Jongho, which everyone but him worried about.

Other than more supplies and food, what they had also brought with them were shooting guns and envelopes filled with gunpowder from the soldiers they had killed. The number of victims was uncertain to both of them as they spent a generous amount of time arguing over who shed the most blood and why. Hongjoong watched their debate wordlessly, only smiling fondly. Through his eyes, Yeosang tried to ask him why he won’t speak to them, but he did not make himself understood.

When Hongjoong first saw them, Yeosang saw how his knees weakened and tears were desperate to spill, but then the two crashed over him and swept him off his feet in their arms in the most human display of platonic love Yeosang’s ever seen. Hongjoong touched them and scrutinised them from head to toe, chanting to himself _You’re alright, You’re alright_. Yeosang knew how much Jongho and Mingi loved Hongjoong, even more than Hongjoong himself did.

After they finished eating, Hongjoong went to dispose of the bones, time during which Mingi cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered in Yeosang’s direction: “We need to talk to you.”

Yeosang knew, but nodded like he didn’t. The three of them shared the same worried glance. Until Hongjoong came back.

“So you say they’ve all dissipated.”

“Yes,” Jongho confirmed. “They were all at each other’s throats back at the camp. Like they didn’t know who they were fighting anymore. Even more after they were ridded of light. Mingi hyung trapped a lot of them in that ring of fire, and we killed the rest who followed us.”

“I don’t think I was ever told how many soldiers Sungjo had.” Yeosang said.

“We don’t know, but significantly lower and less trained than the Royal Army.”

“…But what of the Royal Army?” Hongjoong asked, too discouraged to give anyone the power to reply right away.

It took five raindrops taps against stone for Mingi to say: “You can imagine how harrowing it was for us to kill our own comrades. If this had been different, then we would have had to face capital punishment.”

“…You won’t.”

More soft tapping sounds came. The silence in the cave was so acute, that one could hear the sound of the droplets sliding in rivers along the grooves of the stones.

“But that’s not all of them, Your Highness.” Mingi went on. “Some are still siding with you, and returned to the palace to protect it. And others are hunting down Sungjo’s men as we speak. People said that they’re already all across the east.”

After one more silent moment came, Hongjoong sighed, and turned to Yeosang. “What is the safest option here?”

Yeosang stood up and walked over to the cave entrance, where he lifted his head and read the far skies, then the one above him. “The weather will only worsen from here, I’m afraid. I don’t know how much shelter this mountain will provide. Also another mountain spirit might start bearing his teeth if he finds us here…So…I suggest you gather your energies for now…Then early in the morning we search for a place to stay in a city that hasn’t been affected yet. We also…” He turned back around, looking at the three of them. “Need to do something about those clothes. Would be better if they didn’t know you’re from the capital. Trust me.”

“What’s the nearest city here?”

“…Samcheok. I believe.”

“But…May I suggest we left now, Your Lordship? We may not be rested, but we have enough to travel there. The sky still looks clear for now.”

Yeosang thought. “Also. It might be difficult for the horses if the road gets any slipperier…That detail also escaped me.” Then he nodded once. “I agree. We could leave soon. I believe you wouldn’t have suggested that if the roads weren’t clear.”

“Your Highness, is this alright with you?”

But Hongjoong was already preparing Gureum for departure. 

  
*

Yeosang snuck into the city beforehand to purchase them all clothes with colours that drew less attention, then spent an extensive amount of time tying Hongjoong’s hear and concealing it all under his new nobleman hat. As for himself, he shapeshifted and wrapped around Hongjoong’s arm. They hid the rifles underneath their clothes, and while they settled in their new rooms at the inn, Yeosang went back to check for any signs of vandalism. The streets were peaceful, the townsfolk’s voice was calm with no recent gossip or tales. By the bulletin boards, however, there were guards and officers glueing announcements and posters. People gathered in a hemicycle around them, moving their heads in circles, like owls, and raising to their tiptoes in impatience to read what those said. All Yeosang could decipher was ‘a man with red hair who is impersonating the king is at large’. Calmly, Yeosang left before the commotion would grow, and before returning to the inn, he stopped to buy pastries.

They were given two separate rooms, but they all gathered in his and Hongjoong’s. The innkeeper asked him if he would like to have dinner served in their rooms. While he was there, Yeosang accepted their every service, including access to the baths, but if he paid more, it could be arranged to have it just for them for a limited time. Yeosang agreed to everything and paid for every service on the spot simply because he was alone, with no one to tell him that he was wasting money. He did not have the heart to tell anyone that the money he paid with were either fake or stolen.

The way Yeosang had the ability to magically make objects appear in his hands was simply if he remembered where they were exactly placed. If he walked by a man who was counting his money, and Yeosang remembered what the bag looked like and where it was, he could make it appear in his hands. It was unfair and surely illegal in both the human and the spirit world, but it helped him now that he was travelling with three humans who were all dirt poor, with value only in their names and identification plaques.

The sky was starting to darken, but the weather hadn’t yet changed. By the time Yeosang finished and returned to his room, the other three were gathered in a circle, massaging each other’s shoulders, hissing and moaning and cursing. Yeosang showed them an involuntarily judgemental look, but when he saw what was happening in there in reality, he looked away. While he waited for the innkeepers to bring the dishes to their room, Yeosang removed his outer robe, unaware of three pairs of eyes staring at him like witnessing a meteor shower. It was only a matter of seconds until Hongjoong would slap the other two across the eyes, if he had not been the most mesmerised. When Yeosang turned back around to them, they all withdrew their hands and looked down in guilt. He sat down at the table, on Hongjoong’s right, placing his fan next to Hongjoong’s sword.

“Is there something wrong?” Hongjoong asked him, sweeping back his hair, then the strands that were stuck underneath his collar.

Yeosang shook his head. He was still trying to answer that himself. He had grown a strange form of dislike for rooms like those he was in then. He began having that feeling the first time he stepped foot into that inn. His mind became unable to live in the present.

Thankfully the room became livelier when their foods were served, and three bottles of alcohol Yeosang did not remember ordering. Mingi threw off his robe like it was on fire, then rolled the sleeves of the shirt he wore underneath, and devoured his beef stew like his life depended on each bite. For the first time Jongho did not race him. It might have been Yeosang’s imagination, but the younger did not seem to want to eat until the spirit did. “Are you not eating, Your Lordship? Is this not to your liking?”

“I practice inedia. Don’t worry about me.” Yeosang took the chopsticks from Jongho’s hand and filled his plate with every side dish there was.

“I didn’t know you were rich.” Hongjoong said, quietly eating his soybean soup. Yeosang’s never seen him eating so dishearteningly. Despite not liking it, he understood that the commonfolk were not given legal access to all the ingredients and spices the upper classes was.

“I’m not.”

Something was unsettling about the silence at the table. No one nudged each other and no one stole food from the one on their right. Everyone had something else to say, but not one wanted to begin. Hongjoong looked down, Mingi looked towards the window, and Jongho looked towards the door. Yeosang wanted nothing more than to give them an affirmative answer. While they made up their mind, he gathered all the empty dishes and took them back downstairs, earning himself a series of self-degrading apologies from the innkeepers for not providing the best services. It left Yeosang baffled throughout the entire interaction, as he thought he only facilitated their jobs, but after they finished bowing, he complimented every staff member individually for their services. He left the lobby with a smile on, and an open marriage proposal to someone’s daughter, which he did not know what to do with. “My current existential status prevents me from marrying.” He said, bowed, and left.

The first bottle of alcohol was already half empty, and with that, the atmosphere in the room became livelier. For a reason unknown for Yeosang, the three rolled their sleeves up to the limit, and examining each other’s arms. Hongjoong’s eyes were rimmed pink already. Jongho accidentally gave Yeosang his own cup of wine, but Hongjoong slapped his hand away. “You dare.”

“He does dare.” Yeosang said, taking Hongjoong’s glass instead after refilling Jongho’s. “But you? You shouldn’t dare. You’re already drunk.” 

“I’m not.”

Yeosang hummed, holding Hongjoong by the wrist when he wanted to reclaim his cup. He returned it in the end, empty, but accepted Yeosang’s offer to have his alcohol intake limited by him. “Now what were you doing?”

“Hyung said I’m losing hair. And I’m not losing hair.”

“You…What? Hair?” Yeosang looked at Jongho’s head. “Are you?”

“Not that.” He stretched his arm in Yeosang’s direction. “This hair.”

“Oh.” Yeosang gently took Jongho’s arm into his hands, running his ring finger through the dense but soft hairs. Then softly pinched the hairs in between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing them. Jongho’s arm grew heavy in his hold, like it melted. “I shouldn’t enjoy this experience as much as I am.”

“Why do you like that?” Hongjoong asked, offended. Then he checked the status of his own arm hair growth. Less dense and less dark. Hongjoong’s tone brought Jongho back from his infatuated trance, and took his arm back. “And since when?”

“I have for a long time. Body hair growth is very human, and I love it. Oh, and the little hairs that grow in between the eyebrows, I find that quite lovely. The one on the back of the fingers too. Oh, and sagittal abdominal hair. But only that.”

“I know.” Hongjoong mumbled, taking a short sip.

“How do you know?” Jongho asked, innocently.

But Mingi was quick to cover. “You know what I don’t understand?— Your Highness, may I address you informally?”

“I feel like I will regret this, but you may.”

“You’re one of the worst types of people.”

“I do, indeed, regret this.”

“You can’t stop me now. I’m your friend, you can’t hurt me.”

“…Continue.”

Mingi lifted one finger. “You are arrogant.” Second finger. “You are childishly ambitious.” And a third. “You have no awareness of the consequences of your actions.” And fourth. “You think you are all-knowing, you think you’re always right, and when you’re not right, you twist the situation around so you can be right, and you rage when you’re wrong.” And finally, fifth. “And your egocentrism is out of control.”

With his pinkie up, Hongjoong picked up a cookie, broke it in half, and ate the smaller piece first. “I am aware.”

Mingi’s mouth was still open, ready to start enumerating on his other hand, but after Hongjoong’s closed response, he shut his mouth and softly punched the table, looking towards Yeosang. “How can you stand him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought of him as insufferable. He does his best not to upset me.”

“If you tell us how you tamed him, I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life.” Jongho said.

Yeosang picked his cup of wine, and with a smirk on his lips, he took a sip. “Oh, you’re too young for that.” To distract Jongho from the embarrassment that overcame him, Yeosang fed him a cookie.

“You didn’t tame me.” Hongjoong said as if it was a threat. “You-”

“The wine bottle is empty, Hongjoong.” He smiled. “Will you bring another? And water, please.”

Hongjoong slammed his palm against the table in an attempt to assert his dominance back, but retracted it as if it burned when Yeosang shot a glacial glare at him. He left the room with no further comments. When the door shut firmly behind him, Yeosang looked at them: “Make it quick.”

“The news that someone is impersonating the king have started to circulate. Sungjo is committing crimes in the king’s name, leaving messages written in blood for the travellers and storytellers to spread the word. Most people were not given a better chance to believe it, but some are weakhearted and live in fear.”

“Is Seonghwa still around?”

“Yes. He said he will never stop rescuing the families. He also said he will try and find a pattern on which city or village Sungjo will besiege next and let us all know.”

“But His Highness already knows about this.” Jongho said. “Why must we keep it a secret from him?”

Yeosang was ready to answer. When they heard steps coming back up the stairs, they leaned back in their regular leisurely sitting poses. Mingi took the wine bottle from Hongjoong and swung it in the air with a grin. “Mind if we take this one to our room? His Lordship Eunbaem said he will not let you drink anymore.”

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, sitting back down. He sat more towards the edge of the table, further away from Yeosang than last time. The spirit thought nothing of it, and filled Hongjoong a cup of water to clear his system of alcohol. “Right,” Mingi said, pressing his palms against his knees to pull himself up. “I’ll go bathe before I crash here. You. Come with me.” He tapped Jongho’s head with his knuckle as if he knocked at one’s door.

“I don’t want to.”

“Take a bath, you rat.”

“No.”

Mingi groaned, wrapping an arm around Jongho’s waist, pulling him up, then manoeuvring him onto his shoulder, like he was a sack of rice. Hongjoong quickly empties the last remaining wine bottle, before collecting the cups and setting them aside. He dropped his forehead on the table with a quiet thud, and closed his eyes. Yeosang rubbed circles onto his back, then tapping it to get his attention when he filled him a cup of water. “I want to throw up.” Hongjoong said.

“Then why did you drink so much?”

“What I meant was…I need to throw up. I want to. I drank with that goal in mind. But I don’t feel like doing that yet.” Hongjoong took the cup, drinking it all in two large gulps.

“Why would you want that?”

“Intense nausea would distract me.”

Yeosang ran his hand through Hongjoong’s hair, sweeping back his fringe, and gently massaging his scalp with the pads of his fingers. “Maybe a bath would help you. Stop drinking for now.”

“Do I look drunk?”

“Just a bit. You’re redder than usual.”

“Do I speak as if I’m drunk?”

“Not really. You were worse the first time I saw you like this.”

Hongjoong slapped his palms against his eyes, hunching forward with his elbows against the table. He sat in that brooding position for several seconds, before standing back up. “It’s too quiet here. I don’t like it.”

Yeosang nodded, partly to himself. “…Me neither, to be honest.”

And just like that, Hongjoong drew his attention towards him, and the voices in his mind went dead silent. “Why?”

Yeosang shrugged his shoulders. “There’s something about…being in cities and staying in an inn that I do not quite welcome.”

“Is it because of your life as a human? Are you remembering things?”

“I think I am. But I am repressing everything.” He sighed, then smiled conclusively. “Join me for a bath?”

Hongjoong stood up with a nod. Before heading downstairs, Hongjoong suddenly wrapped his arms around Yeosang, pressing their bodies together until his ribs had no room to expand. Over his shoulder, Yeosang smiled knowingly, and embraced him back less tightly, but more tenderly. “I forgot what it feels like when you touch me through my clothes.”

“Would you like me to?”

Hongjoong nodded, letting him go, giving his hands firm squeezes before leaving.

The innkeepers provided them with a wooden basin with cloths, towels and soaps. The washroom was equipped with two large barrels filled with hot water, and a smaller one with room temperature water. Hongjoong twisted his hair in a tight bun, placing a wooden hairpin through it. He removed his outer tobe, tossing right next to the box designated for old clothes. “When you leave,” Yeosang said. “Make sure not to leave any hair strands around…You know.”

Hongjoong touched his head in the back for any loose strands, then searched the floor around him. “I…do want to wash my hair, though.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

Yeosang disrobed, keeping only his ramie trousers on. He tilted Hongjoong’s head back, pouring warm water over it, then rubbed soap into his palms and massaged his scalp. Throughout getting his hair washed, Hongjoong remained silent and thoughtful. His eyes were relaxed and closed. The veins on his neck were prominent with how he contracted it, and the hair on his arms was darker when soaked in water. Perhaps Yeosang missed touching him through his clothes as well. It was the second time Yeosang washed his hair, and he was still unable to tell himself why it was such a surreal experience to him. When he poured water over his hair again to rinse the foam, he had always expected pink pigment to come out as well. He never knew why. Hongjoong’s genes were of mythical kind. No one would have ever known that those would ever become the ones to represent both his ascension and descent. Red was the fire within him, but red was also the centre of a target. Yeosang thought so as he was gently combing through it. “I think you should cut it.” Hongjoong said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. I understand. How short do you want it?”

“I just want it easier to manage. Maybe…little above my elbows…I…It’s the colour I worry about. Unless I go bald, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Yeosang nodded, laying a towel over Hongjoong’s shoulders. “I will. But once we’re in a safer place.”

Next came his turn. Hongjoong handed him his wooden hairpin. Then he searched for his lose hair tie, shrugging his shoulders when he didn’t find it, and going out shortly to bring another.

Yeosang folded his and Hongjoong’s clothes, trying to decide if he should take them back or dispose of them by burning when the time came. While waiting for Hongjoong, he brushed his hair while humming the wind-changing song.

From the barrel filled with clean bathwater next to him erupted a bubble. A moment later, another one. Yeosang put down the hair brush and walked over with a washing cloth. He swept his hair to the side, then folded the cloth. From the depth of the barrel came a ripple. But there had been, however, no floor movement to instigate it. He leaned over the barrel, thinking there might have been a drowning bug. But instead of his own reflection in the water, he saw a darker one with beaming yellow eyes. “I found you.” A voice came through loud and clear. He gasped, drawing back, but a sharp-clawed arm grasped his neck tightly, forbidding him from taking a breath, and pulled him beneath the water. Breathing out of instinct, water had already filled his lungs like a stream flowing backwards. With his hands propped against the edge of the barrel for support, the black robed arm around his throat ripped at the layers of his skin, and before he knew it, he filled his lungs with his own blood rather than water. With his hands, he pushed the barrel to the side, tipping it over, and with it, the boiling water. He dropped to the floor as if tossed, and rolled to his side, desperately gagging and coughing up water out of his mouth and nose.

“Yeosang?!” Hongjoong shouted, rushing to his side. His eyes were wide, dilated with fear, hands shaking and uncertain in the air, reaching to touch him, but then withdrawing. “Yeosang, what happened?”

The water that poured onto his neck crossed through the scratch marks bloodstained. Patches of his skin were flushed, having been whipped by waves of boiling water. Hongjoong only attempted to lift his head when his coughs came clean and dry. Tears swung in his eyes like the last drop of rain at the bottom of clear glass, and steam came out of his cheeks. He heartbreakingly dropped his head onto Hongjoong’s lap, burying his face into his stomach in the most tragic display of fear he’s ever presented. Hongjoong held him tight, whispering him soothing words with his lips against his hot temples. He drew his hair away to see how far the claw marks stretched around his neck, horrified to see that they seemed to perfectly encircle it like a shackle.

Trembling, Yeosang lifted himself up, touching the blood that ran down his clavicles. “Don’t-” He stuttered. “Don’t look at the water when you bathe. Jus- Just keep your eyes closed.”

The tension in Hongjoong’s cheekbones and eyebrows elevated with the realisation: “Geummae.”

Yeosang nodded.

  
*

Hongjoong soaked the clean cotton cloth into the ointment, cleansing the cuts from Yeosang’s neck. His jaw contracted and his knuckles became white with tension, but he made no pained sound. He stared into space, quiet, throughout the entire process. After he waited for it to dry, Hongjoong dipped a cotton ball in the herbal ointment they had brought with them. Every now and again he opened his mouth to speak about the first thing that came into his mind, but every time he chose against it. He knew Yeosang would have been kind enough to respond to him, regardless of what trivial subject he wanted to talk about. “You were scared for a moment. I saw it.” Hongjoong said. Bravely, if anything. He left the little tray of medical supplies by the door, and returned to Yeosang. He took a piece of his hair in his hand, rubbing it gently with his fingers to see how much it had left to dry.

Yeosang nodded. His eyes were on the verge of drying from lack of blinking. “I didn’t understand. But now I do.”

“How he did that, you mean?”

Yeosang nodded again. “It depends on where the water was collected from. If it comes from a river that empties into the sea or within an inland body.”

“…We’re close to the sea.”

“We are.”

“But I thought inland waters belong to river and lake spirits.”

“They do.” He wrapped his cloak around him, turning his head to face the window. He looked for the mood, but she was nowhere high among the starts. “I could kill him.” He murmured as softly as he would utter a love confession. His voice was hoarfrost over leaves. “But he’s still afraid. You can tell he still is. But he could kill me too if he wanted…What he doesn’t know is that if I am to die, I will take him with me.”

“He can’t kill you.”

Yeosang looked at Hongjoong. And said nothing more. He spilled his eyes into him with a new kind of understanding of where they were. With that, the rest of the conversation remained unspoken. The smoke from incense froze in time, leaves and snow hung in the wind, and the voices in the air carried as if sailing through stars. No sound crept in while they looked at each other. Within those four walls, Hongjoong could sleep. If he looked outside, he learned to only close his eyes and never drift away to dream.

“I’ll protect you.” Hongjoong said. Yeosang met him with eyes wide.

If Yeosang refused to tell him his future, then Hongjoong had become unfaltering in making his own.

Before the spirit thought of responding, Hongjoong crawled on his palms and knees to him and sat himself caged around Yeosang’s arms and legs, with his head against his chest. Yeosang buried his nose through his fragrant, moist hair. “I’m the one who has to protect you.” He mumbled, brushing back his hair to reveal his skin. An amniotic tranquility overthrew him when Yeosang’s lips landed on his neck, like snow over plum blossoms. They seared into his skin, marking a flower road down the column of his neck in such a slow manner that it killed Hongjoong from cell outwards. His tongue churned to wine in his mouth, and his eyes became unable to discern colours. He wanted to disagree with Yeosang, but all that came out of him was a long sigh which would have become a moan if Yeosang hadn’t stopped him. The cold out of their sphere crawled in between the creases of his abdomen when he felt his shirt being pulled up. Hongjoong shifted, until his back hit against Yeosang’s chest. He held his breath, watching as the spirit’s fingers caressed circles around the hairs that peeked from underneath the waistband of Hongjoong’s nightwear. “Do you still want me to…?” Yeosang whispered dangerously close to his ear. Swallowing in vain, Hongjoong dropped his head forward as a response, parting his thighs without needing a command to do so. With his other hand, Yeosang lifted his chin and tilted his head, licking Hongjoong’s lips with his snake’s tongue. Hongjoong opened his mouth longingly, sinking his hand through Yeosang’s hair as they kissed. He twitched with his entire person when Yeosang’s hand reached down to where ardour hit him the hardest, stroking him slowly. Yeosang’s tongue was ceaseless, claiming Hongjoong like once wasn’t enough. When the king risked his first loud whimper, Yeosang broke the kiss, shoving two fingers into his mouth instead, his claws puncturing his tongue. He only lifted them when he felt Hongjoong’s tongue relaxing underneath his fingers, his lips wrapping around the digits instead. The movements of Yeosang’s hand quickened and his grip tightened, inciting Hongjoong’s thighs to tremble to the brink of collapsing. He sucked on Yeosang’s fingers as much as his weak lips could hold, but hard enough to keep his throat from craving more through sounds. He was too far gone into his high to ask Yeosang to slow down. In front of him, Hongjoong always lasted too embarrassingly little. He exhaled abruptly through teary eyes, wrapping one loose hand around Yeosang’s wrist, too elated in his afterglow to reach for his hand. The sperm dripping down his abdomen appeared too translucent in his eyes, and he would have doubted anything was even there had he not felt how hot it trailed down. He sobbed in whispers, seeking closeness while nuzzled to Yeosang’s neck. Yeosang kissed the little space in between his eyebrows, then his forehead. With the sleeve of his old robe, Yeosang cleaned him up, then dressed him, never letting him go.

Moments passed of them lazily kissing each other’s skin, careless of where their lips laid. Hongjoong wished he was confident enough to say that there were places on Yeosang’s body he hadn’t kissed yet. But he was not that brave. Or skilled. But when he thought about this skill of his, he thought about the amount of nights they spent moaning each other’s name. He never knew if the number in his mind correlated with the times one moaned the other’s name, or the number of nights they slept together. They were both numberless. Hongjoong spent more nights with his face pressed into the mattress than his most beloved did. But when he was given the honour to be straddled and ridden, he remembered it being even more magical.

“When we slept together the first time…you bled, didn’t you?” Yeosang asked.

Hongjoong leaned his head back until it comfortably sat against Yeosang’s shoulder. He looked at the moonlight streaming in through the little crack in between the window blinds. “Yes.”

Yeosang kissed his neck gently, sending shivers all across Hongjoong’s skin. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stopped.”

“Because it didn’t hurt me. Not enough for me to ask you to stop. I don’t remember it ever hurting until I could not take it anymore. You’ve always been careful.”

“I tried, but…I did not want you to bleed.”

“It feels nice when it’s slow…when you try to connect with the other person…but when it hurts…it’s cathartic.”

“Interesting choice of wording.”

“It clears my mind when it huts.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against Yeosang’s cheek before kissing it. “You waited quite a while to bring this up.”

“There are a lot of things I noticed, and little things I’ve always wanted to talk about…but we’ve always been busy.”

“We have. I wished we had more time to talk about us as well.”

“Well,” Yeosang closed his eyes and listened to the night. The dust travelling the streets, and the soft snores of the noblemen living five streets away. “We have a little time now.”

“I’m not sure what to say now. You took me by surprise.”

“I just thought this would help you ease off a bit.”

Hongjoong giggled, dragging the blanket over his legs. “I’ve always felt like you dismissed me whenever I wanted to talk about…us. Perhaps you didn’t.”

“Yes, there were times when I wanted the topic to end quickly.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m not sure. I never wanted to be an impediment. I just wanted you to focus on your duty. And I did not want to draw attention to me. Even now…I hate myself for it.”

“Don’t.”

“But I do…It eats away at my heart when I’m selfish. I like it better when I don’t talk. And when I just add to whatever you say. I like listening to you.”

“I like listening to you too. But right now…there are not many good things I can think about. I tried, I really did. While you were gone…I did not feel well.”

“I know. Which is why I hurried. But I’m here now. And we can talk until you get tired.”

Smiling, Hongjoong wrapped Yeosang’s arms around him. “I can never get tired when talking to you.”

Yeosang agreed with a short hum, and kissed the apple of Hongjoong’s cheek. While he could not think of anything to say in response to that, he tried to maintain himself afloat in the deep sea that was his mind. He thought of Hongjoong, and how much he had changed in a matter of days. He was not prepared to handle a Hongjoong in a constant vulnerable state. He held Hongjoong in his arms like he carried him both him and his lifelong goals on his back.

“May I speak with San?” Hongjoong said suddenly, but in the seconds while Yeosang thought of his question and analysed his tone, he realised it was the kind of question he had been thinking about.

“It might take a long time for you right now. Given how troubled your mind is. Do you need him specifically, or is there anything I can help you with?”

Hongjoong hesitated. “I think this is something you can answer too…But I fear that you will lie to me. Again.”

Yeosang would have smiled if he had not remembered the circumstances in which he indeed avoided the truth. “I won’t lie to you. Since I’ll be speaking in my brother’s name. I’m forbad to lie.”

“Then,” Hongjoong trailed on, reformulating his question. “I was wondering if…there’s a way for…humans to share a punishment with a spirit.”

“You mean…to be given the same punishment as one?”

“No. I mean…if a spirit is punished…can a human testify for him…or can he go through the same punishment as him…suffer the same fate as the spirit so the spirit won’t have to suffer as much.”

Yeosang squeezed him like he was a blanket rolled up in his arms, then pressed a kiss on his shoulder. “I’ve never heard of such cases. Spirits hardly make such close connections with humans.”

“Are you avoiding the question again?”

“No. I was thinking. Because I’m not sure how to answer this. My punishments have always been acceptable. Harsh, but doable. Years of Seclusion are not that bad once you get used to it.”

“But you don’t live in those times anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…You have me now.” Hongjoong paused. “And even if, say, five years of Seclusion are ‘a blink of an eye in the life of a spirit’ it is not the same to me. I cannot just blink and have those five years be done. To me, five years are five years.”

Yeosang’s heart and arms threatened to smile and grin and laugh until the muscles would tear, but his lip trembled like it was ready to cry. Yeosang’s body was a conflict. “Then…I will count on you to testify for me. You are intelligent and foolish enough to make it work.”

“That. Or live in seclusion with you. There will be nothing waiting for me back in the capital. And nothing would hurt me more than having to live that life alone. I’d rather spend five years with you restoring art and cleaning shrines and travelling.”

“And we will have many opportunities to do so. Hopefully without a punishment involved.” Yeosang said like he was tired of fabricating believable lies. He stood up and went to bring Hongjoong’s clothes, smiling as he turned around. “You know, when you first started using the prophecies against me, it made me anxious. But now I’m quite fond of seeing your mind at work.”

“You didn’t think I would?”

“I just…you know…Yes, I didn’t think you would.”

“…Did you just subtly call me a fool?”

“I did. But lovingly.”

Hongjoong tangled his legs around the blanket, like he always did, but then shoved his feet in when he realised the room was not as warm as the one from the palace. “You call me a fool when you’re the one who does not know the difference between month and week.” Then he turned around with his back towards the world. Yeosang watched him, exalted at the old Hongjoong seeping through after a long time. 

Mingi’s voice asking _How can you stand him_ ran through Yeosang’s mind, and his heart grew. “But you’re still a bigger fool than me.”

“Respectfully disagree.”

When Hongjoong was childishly competitive and stubborn and cocky, when people rolled their eyes and clenched their teeth, Yeosang fell in love with him the deepest.

So much, that words would leave him stranded, and let his lips and arms respond. He lied down next to him and wrapped an arm around him, kissed the shell of his ear and the nape of his neck. Hongjoong’s reaction was low and delayed. Hoping that meant him being tired enough to be able to sleep, Yeosang also closed his eyes. Hongjoong’s breaths were even and slow, but his thumb had not stopped caressing Yeosang’s fingers. Then he stood up and gestured for the spirit to turn around so he can hug him instead. Yeosang gave him a knowing smile and complied. Hongjoong was like a cat, it was always a gamble when he liked being cuddled and when he didn’t. He fumbled behind Yeosang, wrestling the blanket and whispering curse words, but when he lied down, he snaked one arm around Yeosang’s waist, then one leg, pressing their bodies into each other so they would both fit under the covers. Yeosang counted the seconds until Hongjoong would realise he was uncomfortable, and release him.

But minutes passed. Yeosang’s eyes wandered around the room, trying to decide which aspect of the room made him most uncomfortable. The string of dust and cobweb from the upper corner of the room. The door that smelled of the same wood his parents’ inn had once been made of. The colour of the walls— hues away from being identical to the room that haunted him. He wished he would have been able to hold Hongjoong’s hand without the king asking questions.

“Yeosang-ah,”

Yeosang gasped softly. He was not holding Hongjoong’s hand. “You can’t sleep?”

“…No.”

Yeosang took Hongjoong’s arm away from his waist, and turned around to face the ceiling. He summed the little blue flames and let them to float above their bed, but what they did was to only accentuate the tired lines from Hongjoong’s eyes. As Yeosang watched him, he remembered his luxurious room, the expensive fabrics, the thick and finely crafted wood of his furniture, and the plushiness of his bed. The mattress they lied on that night was thin and not enough to keep the cold of the floor beneath away. Yeosang rolled his jacket up for Hongjoong to use as pillow.

“What is it?”

He learned from strangers how he should behave around royalty, no matter the cause at hand. People would always be careful for the members of the royal family to live in luxury even in the poorest of places. They must always be kept warm and well fed and cared for. Yeosang knew that much, but after what he did for Hongjoong, he received no answer or feedback.

“What if there’s more to this?”

Yeosang reached his other hand to touch Hongjoong’s. He used his elbow as a pillow, and his back was uncovered, but Hongjoong’s cheeks were pink with warmth.

“What if…What if my father was not assassinated. What if it was him who killed my mother. What if Lady Minyeong was really one of his concubines, and Sungjo really was the crown prince, but maybe…maybe Lady Minyeong did not agree whom Sungjo was to marry…Maybe she wanted power, she was politically invested, but people tried to take this power away from her…so she stole the crown prince…And…And what if…Oh, what if it was her who killed my mother…”

“How could you know? All of this happened years ago.”

“But did it really, though? If the entire court was able to hide all of this from me for my lifetime, imagine how easy it must have been for all of them to hide everything that happened before.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

“You always know what to say.”

“I just don’t want your mind to be even more restless.”

“Do you know something I don’t know?”

Yeosang rolled over to lie completely on his back. There was nothing interesting above him, not even what lied beneath the ceiling. “…You’ve made an awful habit of assuming I am always hiding something from you. Or refusing to tell you the truth. When in reality, I’ve only done this when you asked about prophetic dreams. You need to remember that I am not all-knowing. And thank goodness I’m not. I really do not know anything about what happened before. And those things you mentioned earlier…I thought about them too. I thought about how many possibilities there are, and how few means we have of knowing the absolute truth. People take extreme measures to hide evidence.”

“What about my father…Have you ever considered that he might still be alive?”

“And that he might be in Geumcheon. Alive or buried there. I don’t know…I also don’t know how safe it is to make assumptions like those with the risk of being disappointed when they turn out to be lies.”

Uncertainty circled Hongjoong’s irises like wisps in the dark. Yeosang blinked, and for a moment, he saw a hue of green flash across his eyes. He feared.

Hongjoong rolled over, on his back, hands relaxed over his stomach. He took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes as if he was moments away from choking on his breath. “There’s no air in here.” He stood up and opened the windows, lifting his head to the night sky and taking a deep breath, although he was unable to do that completely. He felt a tactile tightening in his chest, like someone had pierced through his ribcage and compressed his insides together. He breathed in with his mouth wide open, and his vision began shaking. He hid his face to the crook of his elbow, panting in short breaths. He felt Yeosang’s hand drawing closer to his head before he felt the hand itself. The moment he felt his touch, he leaned his entire weight in Yeosang’s arms. “I hate this.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

Hongjoong shrugged. “Happened a few times.”

Yeosang took his hand and laid it against his own chest. “Do your best to stay calm. Look around you.”

“I hate it. I hate everything that’s around me. I hate it here.”

“You have silence around you. Look at the stars and moon. Look at me. Look at the blue flames.”

_Look at what tomorrow will bring you._

_*_

The nightmares Hongjoong had that night were weeklong. Interconnected, subsiding within each other like rivers spilling into the sea. He watched his oneiric world crumble, overcome by a feeling of lachesism. Before him was a whirlpool. He did not know what was underneath his feet, or if there was anything at all, but he found himself being dragged in. He took steps back to gain momentum, and he jumped. Face up, arms spread. The world he drowned into was made of lightning, with every step he took translating into thunder. If he stomped, the clouds could crack and hailstones would flood out. If he stepped gently, the clouds would softly murmur. Dark clouds were above him, under him, around him. Within that thunder-scape, he peeled his robes off him, and screamed until his lungs capitulated.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the other side of the bed empty, but it still bore a strong hint of Yeosang’s scent. He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head in the direction of the window, where he found a brooding Yeosang staring into space. With his eyes, Hongjoong followed the thin aura of light that outlined Yeosang’s hair. He allowed himself to lose his eyes in it while loading up the power to open his mouth to speak. But Yeosang was a moment quicker: “I know what you dreamt.” He said, turning around. His tone was too ambiguous. His expression as well. “Go wash up.”

Hongjoong complied. The door to Mingi and Jongho’s room was still firmly shut. There was only a group of people at the tables in the lobby. Travellers with straw hats hanging by their shoulders, heads down at their meals. When Hongjoong locked the door to the washroom behind him, he checked the room for any evidence of what had happened the night before. Blood, red strands of hair lost within the cracks. Then he closed his eyes and began to wash up with only the cold water that was provided. He stole the pair of scissors that was left there, hiding it in his collar. Before returning, he barged into Mingi and Jongho’s room and kicked them awake, then forced them into a standing position until they left to get ready. In the other room, Yeosang had already finished packing. He was rolling up the gunpowder envelopes into a cylindrical shape for quicker handling, then shoving them into the little satchel Mingi wore around his belt. After he was done, he took the comb, the headband and the hat, and began arranging Hongjoong’s hair. He twisted his hair around, wrapped lock over lock until it took a much elegant shape, then brought it all together with a hairpin. After he put on his thick, dark headband and his hair, there was no trace of red hair. The hat was translucent, but the dark horse hair it was made out of was dark enough to conceal colour. A quiet, but tense moment passed after Yeosang was done. They peeked at each other when the other was not looking. “I will go hide these in the forest,” Yeosang said in the end, pointing at the rifles. “Meet me outside.”

“I will.” Hongjoong said, a moment before Yeosang vanished. For the first time he noticed that the snowflakes he left behind never melted. Hongjoong gathered his old coat and shirt in a disheveled ball, then snuck into the room where the main heating system was, and tossed his clothes into the fire. He had no time to look back, but the second during which he saw the embroideries on the chest of the shirt burn was the longest.

The moment he stepped out the threshold that was the inn’s doorway, what he breathed was not air anymore. It was so thick with unpleasant smells that he could taste them in the back of his tongue. The street was wide and moderately populated with people wearing the same muted colours, carrying more than their old backs could carry. Children were playing with a ball made out of rope, and makeshift swords out to bamboo stems. A noble lady was being carried on her palanquin. When the weather became windier, she covered her hair with her coat.

Mingi clapped his hand against his back. Suddenly and playfully, but enough to steal two heartbeats from Hongjoong’s chest. After they retrieved their horses they agreed on searching for a place to eat. Hongjoong’s stomach was hungry, but his mind wasn’t. His fight or flight instinct was the size of a wave crawling up a cliff, and no freshly roasted meat would quell that feeling. He was full after eating only five boiled dumplings. He sat alone right outside the tavern, waiting for his two guards, flipping through the talismans Seonghwa had given him. He used the short, solitary moments he had to discover their use. In times like those, Hongjoong was overwhelmingly honoured that the spirits trusted him that much. Not only with items of spiritual origin, but with knowledge as well. But he also felt like some expected too much of him. He had only heard of talismans like those used in shamanism and sealing rituals. And those always had something written on them to give them a purpose. So he made a small cut on his forefinger with his sword, and on the first talisman he wrote the name of the capital. Moments passed, and nothing happened. Then the talisman lifted itself from the pile, one corner at a time, floating away from him like a paper lantern. Too slow to react, Hongjoong allowed it to happen. To his left and right he looked for any sign of Yeosang, wanting to ask if he had just set an entire city on fire. To reassure himself, he took a second talisman where he wrote the characters for ‘ocean’ and ‘ravager’-- The name of his sword. The talisman peeled itself off the pile and crawled in a wormlike motion to the scabbard, wrapping itself around it. Then it sat there, doing nothing more. “Names, then.” Hongjoong said to himself. Not wanting to waste any more talismans, Hongjoong pocketed them and stood up.

Still in close proximity to the inn, he walked around the main street, taking mental notes on how his people lived their lives and how it could be improved. He stopped by a lady merchant’s shop selling pieces of handcrafted jewellery and other ornaments. The first that caught his eye were two unmatched rings, one red, and the other was blue, both jade-carved. A smile sparked in his heart only, and he purchased them without thinking twice. He knew those items were surely smuggled in or stolen, as the designs and materials were to be worn by the nobility and royal family only, but Hongjoong turned a blind eye to that.

“I found you.” An unfamiliar voice said. One that grazed along his eardrums like stone against iron. His heart went haywire in his ribcage, his toes twitching to run. In his peripheral he saw a taller figure standing right next to him, lowering his face so their eyes would meet, and as he did, Hongjoong saw strands of hair falling from beneath his shoulders, waving in the wind like war flags. Slowly filling his lungs with air, he grabbed the first sharp object on the table or ornaments and stabbed it through the man’s hand before launching off down the road.

He bolted out of the main street, not looking back at the who knows how many swordsmen gaining on him. Pushing people out of his way and jumping over carts like he knew no gravity, Hongjoong pressed his teeth together to the brink of shattering, slapping the road sand with his feet, sharply and swiftly enough to draw fire. Soon, commotion of sounds began gathering. People shouting who knew which names, screaming in terror, and praying. Having lost the main street which leaded to one of the gates, Hongjoong counted on his luck and instinct only to search for another exit.

The sound of gurgles and pained screams followed him like a hellion who fed on fear, refusing to think of Sungjo’s men slashing the throats of anyone who stood in their way. His feet stung with burns every time they struck past his leather soles. He climbed over boxes and haystacks piled by the gateways, but when the hem of his coat remained hooked against the gate tiles, something thin and hot wrapped around his leg and threw him to the ground. The ribbons of his hat had been ripped apart, and his chest tightened when he felt the winter breeze so clearly through the sweat of his hairline. He panted abruptly through his nose, his eyes on the red-haired man standing before him, with a whip in his hand. “Is this how you treat your older brother?”

Sungjo drew his sword— a black, leather hilt braided with red, and a crimson tassel attached, identical to Hongjoong’s. But it missed the engravings of the names on the blade. Hongjoong tipped his chin back when the tip of the sword punctured his skin, his eyes perpetually opened like a reptile’s. “Is this how you treat your king?” Four more men wearing imitative royal guards clothing joined from behind him at once, spreading evenly like wings. They were all too young, trauma as visible in their eyes as black against white. Brainwashed into thinking that Sungjo was a victim.

“You’re no king to me. Not when you’re at my feet.”

A sudden choked scream came from behind Sungjo. The last thing he saw before his guard fell still to the ground was a white snake around his neck, and blood pouring out of his every orifice. Hongjoong kicked Sungjo’s sword from his hand, swinging the blade to cut the whip that curled up around his shin. With the sword in his hand he ran like a wind-cutter, but when the numbness in his leg subsided into pins and needles, he was furious at himself for having to slow down.

The sound of a gunshot came maybe at an arm lengths’s distance behind him. His entire body went numb from head down, and the shock was unable to tell him if he was the target or not. He froze. Had it not been for Mingi screaming “Go! Hurry! I’ll cover you!” At him, he would not have. Approaching the wall leading to the southern outskirts of town, he spotted a water drainage tunnel. He placed the sword between his teeth and attempted to lift the barred iron lid, surprised to see another pair of arms coming to his aid. “You go first.” Yeosang said. Hongjoong nodded, crawling in, then holding it for Yeosang. Hongjoong went on ahead, without realising that he was waiting for Mingi. Once the three of them regrouped, Hongjoong ran to open the one at the end of the tunnel. They were all too alert to be bothered by the intense stench of putrid water and long dead rodent carcasses. But the water had not reached over the soles of their shoes. Mingi lifted the lid at the other end, letting the other two cross it first. Once out, they took the deepest breath of air they had ever taken. The first raindrops fell.

Yeosang took Sungjo’s sword from his hand and thrusted in between the chains that had once been used to lock the barred door to the tunnel, functioning as a lock and preventing it from opening from the inside. He leaned his arm against the wall, burying his forehead, and panted. Hongjoong wanted to touch his shoulder, but Yeosang was quicker in grabbing his arm and taking him away from there.

“…Jongho.” He said.

Yeosang looked back at the tunnel, then at the closest gate. He looked at Mingi. “I will go back after Jongho. You two get to safety.” Out of the inner pocket of his coat, he took the last envelopes of gunpowder he had on him. “I will not let you down.”

Mingi nodded with a heavy heart. He looked deeply into Yeosang’s eyes to persuade him, mouthing ‘We can all stay together’. Yeosang clutched Mingi’s fingers together, smiling, and shook his head. If Mingi had looked at him one moment longer, he would have been able to tell that he held his tears back.

“We can wait-” Hongjoong attempted.

“No, you cannot. We’ve been through this before. We will find each other sooner or later. But you have to go as far as your legs can take you. When you cannot take it, hide. But never stop.” Yeosang said. The strength in his words was the one Hongjoong lacked. His eyes trembled. “Listen to me. I love you. Wildly. And loudly. As loudly as an eagle’s cry. As loudly as storms and lightning. So long as there will be sound, I will love you. So long as there is music, and so long as the sound of the flute I play will shift the winds, I will love you. Where there is sound and wind, know I am there too. And I am adoring you.”

Hongjoong’s heart sunk. Unable to say words with no stutter, he used his last seconds of sanity to pull out a small object from his pocket, press it into Yeosang’s palm and caging his fingers around it. He kissed the back of Yeosang’s hand and looked at him one last time before leaving.

When Yeosang opened his palm, the walls of his heart crumbled, and the downpour came flooding in. Within his hand lied a red jade ring.

With the rain pouring into the pores of his skin, in between the hairs of his brows, and into the creases of his eyes, he sled his ring around his finger. Then, looking at the darken sky, he prayed:

“Please. Let it be me.”


	17. Seasong In Disharmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because you cannot feed on my kind."

“I don’t think we will reunite with them very soon.” Was the first thing Hongjoong said after such a long moment of silence, that if they had not been in each other’s visual area, they would have forgotten they were together. Enough had passed for the rain to reach its quickest, and enough for the last drop to fall off the leaves. The trees were dry by then, and the soil had soaked in all the rain. It was little over the horse’s hours. The sun was hidden beneath the clouds, and the snow had nearly hardened to ice.

“And…And I don’t think I am ever going to see Gureum again.”

They were at the base of an abandoned watchtower, sitting on a bed on dead weeds, with their only distraction being the death battle between a centipede and a spider. Hongjoong held his sword in his arms and his knees to his chest. There was no light and no living substance in him. The blue jade ring that he wore around his finger when they separated now lied underneath his collar as a pendant, along with the other trinket he received from Yeosang. He did not trust himself enough to wear in around his finger.

“Please hold me culpable for this. And please punish me severely when we return.” Mingi pleaded, his eyes hanging low to the ground.

Hongjoong shook his head tiredly. “I knew it would happen. I thought I was going to lose him in the war. At least…I hope he will be of use to whoever will find him.” He lifted his eyes, but not high enough to meet Mingi’s. He looked at his wounded hands. The same hands who were immune to pain. He had seen Mingi handling spears when his hand was slippery and soaked with sweat and blood. “You did the right thing. I would not punish you for that.”

Mingi lowered his head. He said nothing more. 

  
He thought of Yeosang’s last words to him. Usually, the sound of his voice would keep him warm from core out, but in that moment his voice was just an echo. And as he spoke, the words would draw themselves in the brume between them. He expected the first time he was separated from him to have been as terrifying as he imagined it. Unlike the first time he had to run away, when he cried and cut himself, he felt empty. As if Yeosang stole his heart from him in more ways than one. He had no urge to cry or to slit his wrists. He closed his eyes, becoming aware of all the small and healing wounds and scars on his body. His temple, the heel of his palm, the side of his knee, and much older ones, from when he fought in the poorest excuse of a war he had ever heard of. He did not want that part of his life to reach the records and future history books.

He touched the pendants around his neck through his shirt, holding his breath. He could feel a warmth that was not his, and a faint field of energy that did not belong to him either. He wanted the feeling to bring him hope. But instead, it brought him faith.

Nobody knew how Yeosang died when he was a human. And nobody was aware of his power, because all he had done in the past month was to fight as a human. He held swords like a forgemaster, and wielded them like they were his own limbs. His love for humanity seeped through even then. Even before the person he despised the most, Hongjoong thought Yeosang would not be able to display power. Not enough for the little human minds to acknowledge.

From this perspective only, Hongjoong felt safe. He looked outside through the little window in the door when he felt discomfort on the right side of his abdomen. A form he had never felt before. But one that made him anxious.

“Let’s move.” He said. Mingi nodded.

The city walls were well hidden behind the snowy trees. No sound from there would have been able to travel as far as to reach them.

They walked like two lost travellers, but in their minds they tried to appear as anything but that. The perimeter of the forest they were in belonged to no one, but them. Birds flew farther as they approached, and snow feared to fall. Hongjoong waited for the sleet. Not because he particularly enjoyed it, but because within it, he searched for an answer.

Or just a prophecy.

He held his steps and lifted his head to the sky. For a moment, his mind swayed, and a thought surfaced in his mind. One that reminded him how much he loved the colour blue. “Mingi-yah.” He mumbled. Mingi turned around, scrutinising the area before looking at him. “For how long will other people fight my fights?”

Mingi waited, thinking that was only the beginning of Hongjoong’s train of thought. But then Hongjoong met his eyes insistently, hoping for a serious answer. “I don’t think anyone has ever fought in your stead. We have all fought in your lead. We offered you our strength at your behest.”

There was a fair amount of validity in what Mingi said, but by his reaction, that did not seem to be the answer Hongjoong had been looking for. Not because he was displeased with the answer, but because he thought he and Mingi lived two different realities.

“Will you always answer me truthfully?” Hongjoong asked.

“Yes.”

“Even if it will hurt me?”

“I would rather not hurt you, but if it is truth that you want, then I will answer you sincerely.”

“Have there ever been times when you thought of me a coward?”

“No. In fact, I wish there had been.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were times when I wished you had rather been a coward and remained safe, then be reckless and put yourself in danger. Your Highness is so repulsed by the idea of being taken for a coward, that you end up going into the opposite extreme.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do I live with the impression that I have done nothing? That I have not fought enough? That I did not keep a single promise I made? That I have not done as much as others had?…Tell me, what am I missing? Have I been comatose, and I do not remember?”

Mingi clenched his jaw and teeth. He slanted his eyes.

“You seem to know the answer.”

With great hesitance, Mingi nodded.

“Tell me.”

“It’s because of His Lordship Eunbaem, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows lifted like they had a conscience of their own. Frustration scratched at the walls of his skull, like a prisoner digging tunnels with a chopstick into the cell floor. He did not want to hear the rest, but he forced himself to. If Yeosang was not there to scold him, he was about to scold himself.

“Perhaps you wish you were able to do as much for people as he did. Perhaps you want to be able to offer him as much as he offered you as well. I believe…this is why you think you have not done enough. When in fact, you have. You may also feel this way because you had to be protected, and you do not like that.”

“…Have you ever felt safe around me?”

“I have never thought about that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my attention is always on you. It is your safety that concerns me most. You should be the one to feel safe around me.”

“Can you stop talking to me as a royal guard? Treat me like your best friend. You don’t have to speak so formally to me anymore.”

The look in Mingi’s eyes softened. He had never stopped treating Hongjoong like one of his best friends. Sometimes he wished he was only that. Sometimes he wished he could push him in puddles and laugh at him all the time, and call him ‘hyung’ instead. “I don’t know if I feel safe around you, but I know you would not hesitate to protect me.”

“I would not.” He sighed. “Do you think Yeosang felt safe around me?”

“I can’t speak in his name.”

“But tell me what you think.”

“I think…” Mingi looked towards his right, recalling all the times he had seen Hongjoong and Yeosang together in chronological order, paying attention to how the spirit looked at the king. “I think he was too devoted to you, Your Highness.”

‘Devoted’ was a word that Hongjoong had heard only once before, and that was when Yeosang told him about how Mingi and Jongho felt about him. They were devoted to him, he said. He understood the implications of the word well, although he had hardly heard it directly. “Devoted…”

“Yes. I think you have always been his priority. Your comfort and safety. Like us, he was too concerned with keeping you safe…that he never stopped to think if he ever felt safe…This is what I think.”

Hongjoong swallowed in vain, just then realising how dry his throat had gone. “Would you judge me if I told you that I want to protect him?”

“I would not. I know you want that. Why would I judge you?” 

“I was afraid you’d think I am abandoning my duties.”

“I know you would never. I also know you had cheated death a worryingly amount of times. I trust you. I know you will be able to fulfil the goals of the both sides of you.”

“Both?”

“Yes. The side of you that is king. I know you will singlehandedly ensure the safety of your throne. And the libertine side of you, who wants to build ships and run freely and travel the world with the man he loves. If you set your mind to it, I know you will be able to protect him.”

With his eyes on the sposh on his boots, Hongjoong exhaled softly, like the winter could turn his breath into smoke signal. He nodded vaguely. Unused to asking that many questions at once, his lungs fell tired. Whenever he felt lost within himself, he remembered about Lady Suyang. How concerned she was when Hongjoong felt insecure. He remembered her face and her voice scolding him in the sweetest tone she had. _If the king will ever feel insecure in his own mind, then so will become the ground beneath his feet. Should there ever be an earthquake, know it was your worry to blame. Should there ever be a rainfall so violent to cause floods, know your tears are at fault._

“I think I understand now. What I must do.” He announced.

But the voice in which he spoke in was not his king’s voice. It was of a kind of softness foreign to Hongjoong’s. He spoke like wisdom was his own sound.

His eyelids laid low serenely, like apple blossom petals when the wind charmed them. He tricked his mind into amnesia and his lungs into a meditative pattern.

Mingi nodded. “Where do we go?”

Hongjoong sighed calmly, but the sword trembled in his grip. “Just me.”

The corners of Mingi’s lips twitched. He thought his ears betrayed him. “What…”

“…It has to be just me. Alone.”

Mingi shook his head slowly. “No…No, it can’t be just you. I cannot leave you alone.”

“I know. But what’s going to happen is not something I want to involve you in.”

“But tell me what’s going to happen.”

Hongjoong looked in the river’s direction. Thin pieces of ice carried away too violently for any winter to properly settle in. The river waters were running away. “Mingi…I need to do this.”

“Well I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.”

“And do what? If I leave you, then what? I know you’re afraid, Your Highness! The look in your eyes has remained unchanging ever since His Lordship Eunbaem left us.” Hongjoong’s eye twitched at the mention of him. “I cannot leave you. I am speaking both as your guard and as your best friend…Do not put me through this.”

“You go to Master Yunho’s temple. And you tell him everything.”

“But-”

“Mingi-yah!” Hongjoong shouted. Mingi’s shoulders startled. Birds from trees away flew in fear, and his echo wandered around like phantoms. “No more!”

“Please!"

“No!” Hongjoong pressed his lips. He was vulnerable when Mingi was vulnerable. “What I must do here is something that needs to be done alone…I am not afraid like I used to be. But now I have no other choice but to grip my heart between my teeth and push forward…I beg you, listen to me. The capital needs to know everything that happened here. And Master Yunho needs to stay informed. You know what a great role he played in all of this…I am not afraid of hellions. I am not afraid of Sungjo.” Hongjoong’s voice quaked with sorrow; the walls of his trachea coated in frost like the rivers refused to. “I’ve lost everyone that’s ever been on my side. I’ve lost the people who stood by me. I've lost them because I was childishly ambitious and arrogant and unable to admit defeat. I lost them because I was incapable of protecting those whom I loved the most.” He smiled aguishly, shaking his head and raising his shoulders indifferently. “I am over with that. I refuse to do that starting from now…I realised it all too late how much Eunbaem loved me, but when I did, he…Not one day did he stop shielding me with his own life.”

“But would you really give your life away for a spirit?” 

“Do not speak of him this way.”

Mingi bowed his head. “But you know what I meant to say, Your Highness. You-”

“You are to me like I am for Eunbaem.”

Surprised beyond words, Mingi clenched his jaw, unable to rip his eyes away from his king.

“Do you understand now, Mingi? I am not giving my life away. I am doing what I think is right. I have not forgotten my position. Nor my role for this country. But just as you know, I have been betrayed more times in a month than any other tyrant has been in his entire reign. And I refuse to spare these people a second thought. If they stand against me, I will not give them a funeral. I am sending you to the capital to save all that we have left before it all shatters down. That way my efforts will not be in vain. Let everyone know. And shame them all for turning against the state.”

Mingi swallowed down the lump in his neck. His eyes quivered. Frost gathered on his eyelashes. “Is…Is this an order from the king?” He mumbled, more afraid of the response than he was of the journey back to the north that he was about to embark on.

Hongjoong smiled. Mingi wanted to punch that smile into the deep sea. “It’s an order from the king.”

Mingi laughed nervously, and picked his sword up with utmost discouragement. “The next time I will leave your side will be when I retire.”

Hongjoong laughed back. “Of course.”

A lump the size of hailstone formed itself in Hongjoong’s throat when Mingi turned his back. Tears froze right away on his lower lash line. He whispered prayers towards Eunbaem for Mingi to have a safe journey, after which he turned around. With a deep sigh like a dragon’s breath, he paced through the snow, in the opposite direction of the river. If the waters feared the deeper seas, he was the lightning, conducting electricity as far as the eye could see. As the ground was cold, he was not able to perceive how tired his feet felt, but the rhythm of his own steps, the satisfying crunch of the snow he made did an outstanding job at keeping the inside of his mind as blank as what lied before him. He breathed like Yeosang was next to him to hold his hand. With just the thought of the spirit, Hongjoong felt warm again. He ignored the direction plaques nailed to the trees, and entered a village with very little population. Everyone stepped out of his way and eyed him suspiciously. He only looked ahead of him, as had he looked around, the surface hoar around his heart would have melted, and he would have deviated from his goal, even if it was for only one second. He did stop, however, to buy a steamed bun for the way. When it came for him to hand the old lady the coins, he stopped for a moment, and asked: “Ma’am, I’m not from around here, but I heard some rumours that the king is nearby?” And dropped the coins into her hand.

Few gave him a concrete response, and those were the ones who did were travellers who earned their living through storytelling, and they not believe that the man in question was the real king. Hongjoong had to pay money in exchange for the information, but instead he chose the bargaining option, and exchanged tales about Eunbaem for rumours about the imposter king. “But Eunbaem is most popular and worshipped in the north.” To which Hongjoong agreed and added “But you will find his shrines here as well. As far as I’m concerned, the east, especially the sea coast, isn’t guarded by any spirit because of the sudden disturbances in the weather.” Then the storytellers asked Hongjoong to draw them a map of where they can find the shrines. Turning the paper around, he wrote down the prayers.

“So is that what you are? An emissary of the Silver Snake cult?”

“No. Just a firm believer.”

With that, Hongjoong took his food and left. The walls protecting the village looked newly built, and the trees that grew on the other side of them were intact. However, Hongjoong could see how they would pose a threat in case of a storm. But during gentle weather like the one that day, the branches that held the snow perfectly camouflaged the village behind them.

“Young man, wait!” A storyteller said. Hongjoong turned around, with a piece of steamed bun in between his teeth. “What’s your name?”

Hongjoong chewed slowly, suddenly having forgotten about every other name that has ever existed. “…Hyeokjoon…Um, Kang.”

“Ah, Kang Hyeokjoon-ah, where are you headed?”

“Towards the sea.”

“All alone? On foot?”

Hongjoong nodded.

“But you’re so young. Where are your parents? Your wife?”

“…They’re not with us anymore, sir. There are urgent matters I need to attend to, and I can only do them alone.”

The storyteller approached him. He wore an ash grey shirt and a cotton piece around his forehead as a headband. He was not dressed for winter, but by the way he carried himself, he seemed the type of man who’d calmly smoke his pipe during a storm, allowing it all to happen because that was mother nature’s way. “Take my horse with you. It will take much longer on foot. You might not be able to find shelter.”

The stubbornness in him had not allowed him to ride any other horse than the ones he was given as tribute. That, and the fact that he was still grieving the loss of Gureum. After moments, he nodded. He also thought he would have struggled making it there on foot. He accepted with a hesitant nod. He was brought a horse smaller than Gureum, and darker in colour. He studied him first, gave him his hand to sniff, then patted his head before mounting him. He did so smoothly, with no complaints, no rears, and no sudden movements. “Sir, are you sure?”

The storyteller approached him with a familiar smile. “Last year you saved my wife’s life. When you sent physicians here with new medicine. You sent them all over the country…Nobody will ever be able to replace His Highness. Such a young man, carrying the burden of an entire country on his own. When my son will be of age, I will send him to the capital to take the imperial exam. Kim Gyun is his name.”

For an entire moment, Hongjoong had forgotten his own name. The one written on his identification plaque. The storyteller picked a red strand of hair that had fallen on Hongjoong’s vambrace. He studied its colour before letting the wind sail it away. “Ah,” Hongjoong said conclusively. “Now that you know who I am, will you not ask me any more questions?”

“No.” The old man stepped away. “If it’s His Royal Highness The King, then I know he will only do good, regardless of where he’s headed. I can only pray to Eunbaem for your safety.”

As part of his lessons on morality, Hongjoong was taught to always remain impassive and impartial in front of those of a societal rank lower than him. If a commoner thanked him, he was to nod and walk away. If someone showed him kindness, he was to show no emotion in exchange. As a reminder that those who were good to him were not good because they wanted to, but because they were required to. Anyone who was remotely hostile to the king would have to deal with legal consequences.

But that storyteller made him aware of his name and power at a time when he had almost forgotten. Hongjoong looked at him to remember his face better, and with a goodbye in the form of a nod, he was on his way.

He had no memory of ever having snowed on the first day of winter ever in his life. Nor of the weather being that uncertain. It happened during one night when both him and Yeosang were still at the palace when the spirit told him how he thoroughly read the weather. He allowed Hongjoong to only witness and ask questions, as for the reading part he needed a lot more than his human mind. Hongjoong regretted not having paid a lot more attention. It all started with a simple question, then another, gradually getting more difficult. Yeosang answered all of them patiently, as detailed as he possibly could, which made Hongjoong feel rather playful. He asked questions only with the intention of irritating Yeosang. But Yeosang had not allowed himself to be irritated. Hongjoong remembered that night as one of the few when Yeosang had not tried to calm him. He held his hand cupped to meet the rain, waiting until drops would collect in the groove of his palm, then he ran his finger through them the same way one would fan out a pile of papers. They sat in silence while Yeosang nodded to himself, and Hongjoong doing nothing but being fascinated by the spirit’s existence only. Hongjoong gave up in the end, and asked him if he can see something. Then Yeosang replied with a series of questions Hongjoong was not ready for.

_If there is water, ask yourself: If I was underwater, what would I feel? What would I see, and what would my other senses tell me? How would the water affect my hearing?— If there is thunder and lightning, you must be very careful where it strikes, and after how long. If it strikes the earth, it will be fairly clear. Also, does the thunder sound like a moan, or like an echoing drum?_

_And if there is wind, you…listen?_

_Is the wind a sea breeze or a land one? Or is it a monsoon? Or is it one that announces a storm? Yes, you do need to listen, but you also need to be careful with how they feel and where they come from._

_I was expecting it to be easier to read than water._

  
_It is, in a way. Also, because water is the most deceiving. Can you tell me why?_

Hongjoong couldn’t. Not at that time of night. Then Yeosang went on with more questions to supposedly help him.

_If you don’t try to answer, then I cannot help you._

_But you said I cannot read the weather._

_You cannot read what it says, but if you are smart enough, you can read the symbols. The most evident ones are summer thunderstorms and sleet. Heavy rains during winter, and snow carrying through spring. Those count as well. They happen when there is conflict among the spirits. That is what abuse of power looks like._

As he travelled, he asked himself the same series of questions. He thought of himself drowning, and he used the immediate reaction of his heart racing just at the thought of it as a response. _Desperate for air. Anxious. Water would flood my senses. I see nothing. I hear nothing. I can’t touch anything. I want to inbreathe, but if I do, I die._ He thought to himself. _So how the hell do you read water…_

He lifted his hand to a tree branch within his reach and picked a bit of snow, rubbing it in his palm until fully melted. He moved his hand, looking at the melted snow creating rivers in between the creases of his palm, spilling out where his lifeline and headline met.

“Oh.” He said with a soft gasp. “Form…” Then he groaned, dropping his head forward. “Is that why it’s deceiving? Because it changes form?” He asked, his eyes on the horizon. The horse bobbed his head. “Is it? Am I right? So, then…” He trailed on, the white surrounding him shifting in images from his memory. The clear scratch marks from Yeosang’s neck. And him telling Hongjoong to not look at the water.

With the corner of his eye, hidden behind a thin tree, he saw a small mass of black miasma. Short legs, as thin as splinters, and a large, round head, with eyes as yellow and piercing as an owl’s. Its mouth was as big as its head, deformed in its own way, and it was chewing on the upper half of a still kicking squirrel. When the hellion saw Hongjoong, it had dropped the squirrel, and crawled on its stick limbs, hissing like a feral rodent, but immediately ran, stumbling in the snow when Hongjoong hissed back.

When he saw no sign of another hellion approaching, he closed his eyes and focused on the muffled roar of waves who knew how far away, but it was close enough for him to discern the exact moment when they crashed against the shores. The fabrics of his shirts thrummed like a beating drum along with the rhythm of his heartbeats. He smiled at the darkening sky and waited for the first gush of wind to start. It felt gentle, but heavy against his skin, like being poked with an acupuncture needle. The rain from earlier that day had thickened the snow on the ground into a thin layer of ice, and soft snow pellets had gathered around the trees. Hongjoong frowned, and dismounted his horse. “If only you knew your way back, I would let you go.” Hongjoong faintly smiled, caressing the horse’s mane as an apology, but his hands were too cold to feel anything. The horse’s ears twitched and he lowered his head. Hongjoong brought their foreheads together, and patted his neck several times before guiding him towards the seashore. There sat a small group of fishermen, whom Hongjoong gave the horse to without any introductions. 

As he approached the rock cliffs, the leaves became darker until they were entirely black, the stones crumbled to cinders when stepped on, and the air smelled like smoke and salt. There was no firelight anywhere nearby. Clouds began to murmur in thunders. Before advancing, Hongjoong took two talismans from his pocket, holding them tightly into his fist.

He pulled his shoulders back and arched his chin upwards as he walked up the snow hill. The fire and the summer sun were envious of the red in his hair. No pigment was as vivid, and no colour was as warm. He was a son, a lover, and the foundation of a country. If fire was in his hair, black was the water around his vambraces, white was the metal in his hands which he had fought with, gold was the earth in the colour of his eyes, and blue was the cold on his skin, and the wood that lied at the root of the state.

Yeosang’s voice echoed sweetly at his mind’s ear, and he smiled as he tried to remember the songs he played. If he did not allow things to change, then they would not change. There was not an inch on his skin, not a strand of hair on his body in which he did not hold a form of power he was not aware of. There was sound and wind around him, and Yeosang was there to adore him.

The hellions hanging by the trees saw him, but he did not see them. They followed him like starving dogs salivating over meat, but none dared to step over his shadow. Focusing on the warmth of his breath rather than on his freezing limbs, he took the first talisman on which, in blood, he wrote a name. He waited for the piece of paper to move or float, but it would not. Its corners flapped like a horse’s ears. He pocketed the first talisman, then took the second one, on which he wrote

_Eunbaem_.

Then pulled his shirt and pressed the talisman against his chest. It felt colder than the sea breeze chewing at the tips of his fingers, but he endured it. His jaw chattered, and so did his throat. The breeze circulated around him and hissed like a curious serpent.

He took a deep breath through his nose, pursed his lips, and whistled.

_Shiver after shiver crossed paths with Hongjoong’s muscles and veins and tissues. For a moment, there was no air to breathe. Until he heard Yeosang’s song coming from everywhere, like the air had been replaced with his music. Snow went still, and so did the pine tops. Until it fell again, but in the opposite direction, falling as droplets against Hongjoong’s left cheek._

He whistled like his lungs were bottomless, like it was his throat alone the sound of a flute was nascent.

When he paused for the second verse, an arrow like an icicle dashed past his cheek, leaving a trail of moist run down his face. Thinking it was just water, he touched it, to find his fingers coated in red. He wiped the blood with his wrist when the second arrow came. He caught it within his palm, stupefied at his own sharpness. The arrow melted in his hand, but before it fell to the ground, it shifted into white little spiders, crawling up his arm. Hongjoong closed his eyes, and in a quick swipe, he brushed them all off until they melted.

_“…What he doesn’t know is that if I am to die, I will take him with me.”_

_“He can’t kill you.”_

_“He can kill me. Through you.”_

“Where is he?” Geummae’s voice came from behind him.

Hongjoong turned around calmly, his eyebrows twitching in surprise at the depraving creature facing him. There was no trace left of the bow who once swept leaves at the temple. The ends of his hair were curled as if someone had cut them with a flaming sword, the sclera of his eyes had gone black like the onyx. A thick, stygian miasma teemed around him, embracing his arms and throat. A black fire blazing slow.

“He is here. He is wind and sound.”

Geummae scoffed. Only then he did notice his deformed, miasmic underlings unable to approach Hongjoong. Displeased, he walked towards Hongjoong, black veins surfacing on his neck and cheeks, his eyes glowing like suns. “Why does this all matter to you? What makes you think you have the right to get involved in spiritual conflicts?”

“I’ve come to you in fear that your conflict might escalate into natural calamity. And in my world, every natural calamity will be blamed on me.”

“In other words. You being selfish. You thinking you can stop everything with your mouth alone because you are afraid that people will not believe in you as the true king anymore.”

“That is not what it is. I have done enough even for the poorly educated to know that I would not shed innocent blood.”

“So you will let your virtue be determined by some rainfall and thunders?”

“No. I will let my people determine my virtue. But I cannot change what superstitions they believe in. I can, however, prevent this from happening. Since all of this has occurred because you infringed your spiritual laws.”

“But this wouldn’t have happened if I was given my rights’ worth. You should understand how I feel. When someone keeps something from you. When someone owed you things, and they refused to give it to you. Because…Because they thought you were too weak. It’s not fair, is it? Being told that it is your right to know, when in fact, it is not. It was your right to know what happened to your mother and father, wasn’t it?” A shiver like a spear pierced through Hongjoong’s back, right through his heart. Geummae walked around him in slow circles, staring into his mind and soul like a panopticon. “You were given the throne, but not all the things that came with it. But then it turned out that this kingdom wasn’t even yours. They played you like a stringed puppet, Your Highness, and they shouldn’t have.”

“It is mine. And I intend to keep it. It has happened to me before…people trying to take it from me. But I am blissfully unaware of anyone succeeding.” He found Geummae’s eyes as he spoke. The sea spirit stopped and stared. “I am blissfully unaware of anyone succeeding in taking _anything_ from me at all.”

“You think you are so powerful.”

“But it is not just a thought. It’s a truth you deliberately chose to be oblivious of.”

Geummae’s eyes had suddenly became calm, devoid of spiritual luster. Darken and human. “It’s strange, because…You’re scared of something…but what…I wonder what it is…because it’s not me.” Geummae stopped, and Hongjoong felt his cold words at the shell of his ear. “Or is it?” Hongjoong held his breath. “You don’t like being here alone, do you? Away…from the palace…away from shelter…away from warmth and food…Away from a certain Eunbaem who did nothing but to spoil you. Bring you anything you wanted at the snap of a finger. You think I didn’t see how much you cursed and cried like an infant when you were alone? Incapable of finding your way through a damned forest?…What a tragic king you are.”

“Enough.”

“I also know a little something…I know that…it’s not Eunbaem you are afraid of losing…it is the things he provided, right? It was you not having to do anything, because he was there to give it all to you.”

“Enough!”

“Why enough?! You just spoke of a truth which I deliberately chose to be oblivious of! But what about you?! What about Eunbaem being there to protect you when you would not unsheathe your sword! And so disgustingly obedient to your every command!”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, but it is! And I’ll tell you why! It’s because if you were not afraid of anything at all, I would not be able to get this close to you! If you were as brave as you claimed to be,” He broke off, wrapping his large hand around Hongjoong’s throat and lifting his feet off the ground. “I would not be able to do this!”

Hongjoong held his wrist, his teeth clenched and inhaling all the air he could through his nose. “I also know,” Geummae went on, tightening his grip, and enclosing Hongjoong’s airways. “That you sung his filthy song to draw me here, and away from him. And! Oh, I know so many things! Let me tell you! I also know that,” Seconds passed in which neither of them moved, then he loosened just for a second, before tossing Hongjoong to the ground, on his back, blowing all the air left on his lungs. He coughed raggedly, rolling to his side. “That if I hurt you…Eunbaem will come to you. To your rescue, like he always does. Right? It’s because,” Geummae grasped his shoulder until he lied flat against the rock ground, facing him. Geummae straddled him, holding both his wrists dug into the stone with only one hand. With his other, he tore his shirt apart, his skin too hot for the cold to reach it. “You have this.” Geummae hissed, tapping against Hongjoong’s liver with his claw. “This is the Eunbaem in you. And I know he is not complete without it.”

And that was exactly whom Hongjoong thought of. Long, honey hair, eyes blue like mythical gemstones, a turquoise flute that he had not heard enough times. When he closed his eyes, he was not held down. He was warm and fed and happy. And his muscles felt soft like he was. “What are you doing?” Geummae roared. “What are you doing?!” He swatted his hand against Hongjoong’s cheek, tearing his skin apart in four straight hews. His jaw, his cheek, his eyelid. But Hongjoong’s heart beat slow. His eyes were dark, and behind them, he saw a beach, and in his hand he held the warmth of someone else’s. Geummae grasped his hair and bashed his head against the stone, and he was screaming, but the scream was distant. Unreachable. Hongjoong bled from his head and face and neck, but his heart beat like he didn’t. It hurt, but he did not allow the pain he felt and the blood he lost to reach his liver. When he felt the warmth of Geummae’s face drawing closer, he reached for his sword, and unsheathing it in an arch, he cut right through the sea spirit’s eye. Geummae fell back, hands cupped over his eye, and screeching like trapped eagles, high pitched and wet with tears. Hongjoong turned to escape, but his ankle was gripped between sharp claws, and Geummae bit his Achilles’ tendon. Hongjoong clawed the ground under him, head thrashed back with a scream. He kicked Geummae off, and in between the spirit’s fangs lied bits of flesh and the lower half of his face was soaked in blood. Hongjoong crawled away from him with his sword in hand, sobbing as he exhaled.

In his mind there was nothing but one string of thought. That no pain would be greater than knowing Yeosang would face the rest of his eternity alone. He would lose blood and any bone over that. Because nothing was above him.

Geummae grabbed thick locks of his hair and dragged him like a carcass. Stone cut into his naked skin, and dust gathered underneath every crease of his trousers and boots, and from his face he still bled. “Why you?” Geummae hissed, his voice low, rough, like the tremor of the ground before an earthquake. The sky above him was dark and the clouds angered with storm. Droplets, small as dew fell onto his face and into the cut over his eye. Above him, Geummae growled. His eye was gone, and in his stead, was a black void. He did not bleed, and underneath him as no flesh. He was more hellion than human.

Hongjoong laughed, blood spitting out. “ _Because you cannot feed on my kind."_

He lifted Hongjoong up once again by his throat and held him above where there was no surface underneath his feet. Waves crashed into stone and crawled onto the cliff, and the first one to fall was his sword. Breaths passed, and the blade scratched against stone as a last cry before the waves devoured it. He did not need to look at it to see the silver in its forging glinting into the last sun ray. “What if you drowned?” Geummae asked. He fully enclosed his hand around Hongjoong’s throat. The veins and arteries pulsated their despair out, his vision was dark-spotted. Blood trickled down his body, like red ink inscribing prayers over his chest and liver.

“If I drowned,” He whispered.

And opened his eyes. He smiled. Rain gathered into his fiery hair. He felt Geummae slippery with water, and opening his grip.

“You’d come with me.” He said, and hooked his hand underneath Geummae's lapel, pulling his feet off the stone shore. One hand lied on the spirit’s throat, and his other, around his wrist.

It poured violently; they saw more rain than they saw each other, and they seemed to never touch the sea, like they fell slowly into a void. 

The moment his back hit the thin layer of ice from the surface, he took the blood written talisman and slapped it onto Geummae’s chest. “Wooyoung!” He thundered. Instead of filling his lungs with air.

The salt of the sea bore fire into every wound. Above water, there were no sun rays. Unable to hold his breath, he spread his arms to swim back to the surface, but a hand wrapped around his ankle, anchoring him.  


Colours bled out of his lips and hair, and blood crept out of him like red vipers. His body was numb with cold. The hand was not shackled around his ankle anymore. When he turned around, he saw Wooyoung regaining his human skin. Gold seeped out from in between his eyelashes.

Hongjoong smiled, and closed his eyes.

Lightning struck the deep sea.


	18. Reflection I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why is a legend never just a legend?”

_“Why is a legend never just a legend?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Why doesn’t everyone know the same variation of a tale or legend?”_

_“Because not all of them were true. Some of them might have been bedtime stories. Dreams. Visions. I could tell you one right now and you will never know if it’s true or not. Most legends and stories we tell each other were transmitted through oral lore. Until someone decided to immortalise them through writing, and that is how you’ve come to know them as you do now. I know you’ve been reading.”_

_“I was reading about the legend of the White Snake. But this one is different than the one you told me. Was Bai Su Zhen loyal to Xu Xian because he saved her from death in a past life? Or was it because she was thankful for having been given those immortality pills which he just so happened to have thrown up?”_

_“In the oldest version of the legend, Xu Xian buys some sweets called tangyuan, and after he eats them, he realises that he does not feel hungry anymore. Only when he returns to the man who sold them, he realises that inside those sweets were some immortality pills. Then the man, who happened to be one of the Eight Immortals, called Lu Dongbin, who then flips Xu Xian over a bridge.”_

_“Until he vomited those pills into the river.”_

_“He did.”_

_“And Bai Su Zhen was there. She ate the pills, and she became immortal. But in the river there was also a turtle spirit, who was envious of her.”_

_“And what did this turtle spirit do?”_

_“Well, Bai Su Zhen And Xu Xian fall in love, and they open a clinic, or a medicine shop. Then the turtle spirit who now took the form of a monk tells Xu Xian that there is an unholy spirit in his house whom he needs to get rid of. He gives him realgar wine for Bai Su Zhen to drink on the fifth day of the fifth moon, because it was said that during that time the spirits’ powers were weakest. But when that day comes and Bai Su Zhen drinks the wine, she transforms into a big, white snake, and Xu Xian dies of heart attack. Then Bai Su Zhen travels to the Emei mountain to collect the leaves of an herb that brings people back to life. After she revives him, the monk tries to once again separate them, and captures Xu Xian, imprisoning him into a temple. When Bai Su Zhen goes to rescue him, she summons waves to flood the temple, but uses too much of her power, and accidentally floods the entire village…But I think it’s here where she becomes weaker.”_

_“She does. Because she was carrying a baby. And here some say that the baby protects her, and others say that this is the reason why she fails to save Xu Xian, and in the end escapes on his own.”_

_“My book says that he protects her because he is a reincarnation of the wisdom god Wen Qu. When the monk, in a final attempt to separate the two, traps Bai Su Zhen beneath the pagoda, warning that he will only release her when the iron tree will bloom. But I have never heard of an iron tree blooming.”_

_“Iron trees do bloom, but rarely. Sometimes once a decade. There is even a saying that goes ‘when the iron tree will bloom’, which means something highly unlikely, improbable, or sometimes absurd.”_

_“So, then, the monk will never free Bai Su Zhen.”_

_“Perhaps, but in the meantime, what happens to their son?”_

_“He grows up, and takes the imperial exam, where he receives the highest score, and his wisdom is acknowledged by the emperor at the time. He, then, took his father, and went to pay respects to Bai Su Zhen, and when he kneels by the place she was buried under, the ground cracks, and Bai Su Zhen rises back to the surface.”_

_“Very good. But can you tell me why?”_

_“Because…he did what was right?”_

_“Or?”_

_“He was filial.”_

_“He was. But, you know, in the story there was also a Green Snake, whom Bai Su Zhen rescues from being sold, and they become sisters. You have not mentioned her at all.”_

_“Because I did not think she was important to the story.”_

_“Every character in a well written story has a role. Green Snake was loyal to White Snake, and cared for her son while Bai Su Zhen was trapped.”_

_“Is it wrong that I did not mention her?”_

_“No. There are variations in which she is not present, and the tale flows smoothly even so. Other than that, you remembered it word by word, almost. Well done. Is your mind clearer now?”_

_“Not quite. A question has been on my mind since I started reading about this…Eunbaem, do you happen to have any connection with this legend at all?”_

_“…No.”_


	19. With No Exit Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He could conceal the loss of control with utmost authority, and paint facts in unproven myths to make them appear believable. Although these have never been his choices."

“Let him go.” Yeosang said, and only by the tone of his voice did the snake in him reveal his fangs, one drop of venom between each word.

Sungjo was tall and charming like a devil in humanised perfection, unworthy, however, of the fire pouring light through the strands of his hair. Behind him sat a kneeled Jongho, with two long swords crossed at his throat, bleeding from his nose and lip, and surely having lost most of his sight in the right eye. But in his shadow stood a large, grey wolf, his eyes bright and his fangs sharp and seeking. Through him, Jongho growled.

“I would have, but you see, I have lost my little brother again. And I am not very happy about that. Have you not seen the joy on my face when I was reunited with him?” Sungjo said, taunting, walking towards Yeosang as unsteadily as a drunkard, with the tip of his new sword grazing against the ground. Yeosang stood his ground, as unimpressed as watching a centipede he could crush so easily. “But you took him from me. Again.”

“You should not have been given the birthright to call him a brother. You don’t deserve him. You may have the blood of king Hyeokjong in you, but you are a plague to the royal family.”

Sungjo studied his face, tracing the hollows of his temples and the slight curve of his nose with his eyes. He smirked. “I believe you don’t yet understand that all I need to do is raise this hand, and the head of the little boy you are so eager to protect will just fly away. What will you do, then?”

“I will nail your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and build you a pyre for your mother to cry before.” 

“Lovely, then. I will see you to it.” He lifted his hand to Yeosang’s face. The spirit froze, his eyes wide and threatening, a growl forming in the back of his throat. “But I know you won’t. If you wanted to kill me, you would have already. I wonder why you hesitated.” He said softly, dangerously close to Yeosang’s neck, and when the spirit slapped his hand away, Sungjo seized his wrist. He smiled slyly at the red ring around his finger, then slithered his hand upwards until their fingers interlocked, and when the ring was secured between his fingers, he sled it off. With a pitiful gasp, Yeosang extended his hand to reach for it, but found himself falling to the ground with the force of a blow when Sungjo’s fist met his cheek. Before he regained consciousness to stand up, Sungjo stepped on his temple, digging his head into the gravel sand. “Go on, then. Build me a pyre. I’m waiting.” He provoked, bursting into a miserable fit of laughter when Yeosang could not utter a word. He, then, stomped his foot against Yeosang’s head, wiping the dirt off the sole of his boot against his skin, then lifted it. “Bring him with us.”

“No!” Jongho shouted, struggling to break out of his restrains. “Your Lordship! Please, don’t! Do not let them take you!”

Yeosang’s lips were sealed, and beyond them, his teeth chattered in belligerence. His hands were forced at his back, tied with knots that only by sensation alone Yeosang was able to memorise the pattern in which the rope wrapped around his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” Jongho cried. “I’m so sorry, Your Lordship.”

“It’s alright. I’ll protect you.” He whispered, smiling. But that was soon to fade when a guard appeared behind Jongho with a piece of fabric, wrapping it tightly around his eyes. When the same pair of arms came closer to blindfold him, Yeosang bit the man’s wrist, thrusting his fangs through muscle and bone until his mouth flooded with blood, then he tore his entire hand away. The guard screamed like a madman, wrapping his other hand around his wrist in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. From over his shoulder, Yeosang heard Sungjo’s tired sigh, before he walked over to his subordinate and slashed his throat. “So loud.” Then made his way to his horse without sparing anyone another glance, nor giving any more orders. Yeosang spat the blood out of his mouth, and wiped the remaining stains against the shoulder of his bright robes.

Throughout their journey back to their old war camp, Yeosang’s eyes were on Jongho. With his breath alone he smoothened the path he walked, calming his fear of falling over or being pushed. When Sungjo would turn around to only look at him, Yeosang’s eyes scorched into him down to the nerve, that he averted them.

Although he did not do so willingly, he noticed a slight shift in the winds. Subtle, noticeable only to spirits, the kind that was caused by a mountain spirit’s distress.

Ever since he and Hongjoong had met eyes for the first time, and ever since they began their journey, he had never thought he was ever going to see the day when he had no more prophecies to fulfil. His mind arose the memories of every single time they talked about prophecies, and how this word would appear so many times in their conversations, because it had been such a mystery and such a chest-without-key for the both of them. He walked like he treaded on thin ice, placing the last pieces of his prophecy with utmost meticulosity.

Through song, he had shifted the winds for his snow to meet Geummae’s rain in order to draw him to him and away from Hongjoong. Thus far, it had all worked out in his favour. He dropped his head and smiled to himself, thinking how he hoped Hongjoong would not think about being smarter than he was. For once, he prayed Hongjoong would not use his brilliant mind, allowing Yeosang to protect him.

In the centre of their camp, there were two chairs with blood-soaked roped loosely wrapped around the armrests, and beside every chair there was a branding iron above a pile of yet to be lit firewood. Jongho’s blindfold was pulled away, after which they were both kicked in the back of their knees, dropping down. Yeosang saw Jongho occasionally looking at him, and although he could not look back, he could not feel his glance fearful. He only wanted to tacitly tell him that he will protect him with his life. The reason why Yeosang refused to meet his eyes was solely because he could not accept that offer.

By Sungjo’s orders, his servants began taking down the tents, removing the beds, trunks, and medical supplies compartments, storing them into carriages. For a moment, Yeosang sighed quietly through his nose, relieved that the prophecy was laying out. Then Jongho was brutally pulled up by his ropes and dragged like a dog, kicking his legs and groaning. He opposed resistance, taking hold of the rope and pulling with one hand alone in the opposite direction. It took two men to be able to pull him away, but the wolf in Jongho’s shadow was rabid. His lip began to bleed from how hard he had bitten through it. Not a single hair on his body had flinched when the guard drew his sword. “Don’t!” Yeosang shouted, shifting from his place. “Don’t. Take me instead.”

“Your Lordship!”

“Be quiet!” Yeosang panted, stunned by the panic in his voice and instinct alone to be able to speak coherently. “Let him go or take me with him too.” Behind him, his nails began elongating into blade-sharp claws, keeled scaled arose on his skin. “I care not what your master says. Today or tomorrow, you will die by my hand or his.”

“Why are you protecting this little boy?” Sungjo said, creeping up from over his shoulder, violently grasping Yeosang’s arm when he wanted to elbow him in the stomach. “Be nice now, I did not hurt the puppy. Yet.”

“And you will not.”

“Or what? You will nail my tongue to the roof of my mouth?” Sungjo smiled. Yeosang held his tongue, bracing his fists. “Take them both to the carriage and chain them.” He ordered. However, right in the next moment, quicker than one could blink, Jongho kicked the man who was holding his rope into the groin, then once again in the temple as he dropped to the ground.

“Jongho! That's enough!” Yeosang broke out of Sungjo’s hold and stepped in between Jongho and the second man he was about to knock unconscious. “Don't do this. Have faith.”

“If you want to wait, then wait! My place is with His Highness! And you would have known too if you loved him as you claim to!”

Yeosang felt the tinge of regret in his voice, but he thought nothing of it. But he also felt regret in the back of his throat as soon as he kissed Jongho’s forehead. “Have faith and listen to me.”

Stunned, Jongho’s ankles and knees were about to give in. His cheeks flushed with anger, and his eyes dilated, but he allowed himself to be carried to where Sungjo ordered to. In the back of a carriage half filled with boxes with war supplies, with their restrains enforced with thick chains like those used to lock gates. While they sat in silence, Yeosang could only think of why Sungjo had given them such a treatment, when anyone else who even came close to being a war prisoner would have been left to walk barefoot. The only logical answer to him was that it was out of fear.

“You should not kiss me like that, Your Lordship. It’s inadequate.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I had to calm you.”

“You should not have tried to calm me.”

“But I did for a good reason. You do not want to die by the hand of the man His Highness despises so much. You are still needed here, and if you are to die, I know you’d rather you die by his side. Do not be reckless.”

Jongho was about to protest, but his eyes fell upon the ones who were appointed to guard them. “They cannot hear us.”

“How?”

“I changed the winds so they would not be able to carry sounds to their ears. Soon they will feel the discomfort.”

Jongho looked back at the guard who wore the same garment colour as the real royal guards. “Hey, you.” He taunted. Yeosang had never heard him speaking informally. After he confirmed the theory himself, he lowered his shoulders, slanting his eyes.

“Look at me,” Yeosang whispered. Jongho did so, his cheeks already flushed. He drew back when he saw Yeosang approaching, holding his breath again when he felt their arms touch. “You’ll be alright. I will promise you this right now. You will see His Highness and Mingi again. I can swear it to you. You will escape. I will see that you do. Soon. Fulfilling this promise to you is my priority.”

“Your Lordship, it almost sounds like you want this to happen.”

“I don’t…want it to happen. But for now, this is the only option I have to ensure that things go the way they are meant to go. And for that to happen…I need to get to Geumcheon.”

“But how do you know what’s going to happen?”

Yeosang looked at the needle-thin ray of lights streaming in from in between the haystacks and boxes, falling right over the melted snow drops from Jongho’s boots. Then a rapid, but small movement drew Jongho’s attention. A black spider crawling out from in between the cracks, within the reach of his foot. He quirked his eyebrow and carelessly stomped over the arachnid. Yeosang studied his face as he did, finding nothing but anger. “…Do you know what the butterfly effect is?”

Jongho blinked. He had not heard of it, but with how alert his brain had been since that morning, he was able to deduce things quickly. He, however, shook his head. “I don’t think I know.”

“The butterfly effect occurs when a small decision we make now will have much bigger repercussions in the future. Such as when a butterfly’s wingbeats are the cause of storms that happen somewhere else. This is a concept I have been trying to get Hongjoong to familiarise with. And if anyone will ever ask about what happened and what is going to happen, just tell them this.”

Jongho frowned. “Why must you be in Geumcheon?”

“I’m waiting for…something.” 

*

Jongho fell quiet for nearly their entire journey to wherever they were taken, but he always looked at Yeosang curiously whenever he would shift and turn his head, peak through the carriage covers or eavesdropping. His heart trusted Eunbaem blindingly, whereas all he saw with his mind’s eye was the king he served. He thought of Hongjoong like he was his sustenance, and the more the distance between them grew, the more he felt like he was failing him. It was never his place to mingle with the king’s personal business, but there have been short occasions when Jongho approached him as a friend and asked about Eunbaem. The first time he did, he was baffled at the way the king smiled. He smiled like love was described in novels. He smiled like a maiden. He smiled like he was drunk, and someone had complimented him. By that smile alone, Jongho’s first impulse was to resent Eunbaem, thinking him a wicked creature send to corrupt the soul of the king and bring the country to ruin. But then Jongho saw the said wicked creature with his own eyes, and he resented him even more. A wicked creature more beautiful than fantasy and myth, more delicate than poetry and apple blossoms. Jongho’s heart spoke loudly of Eunbaem, even when he looked away from the spirit. The only reasons why he trusted him was because Hongjoong did, and because his heart had become desperate. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He said after a long time, defeated.

Yeosang said nothing. He had hoped the same. He prayed he knew what he was doing.

After only the daylight knew how long, Jongho closed his eyes. Thinking he was intending to fall asleep, Yeosang used that time to meditate and attempt to reach San. It was left to be an attempt only, as his heart and mind were not aligned. He was as alone as he never was.

“Your Lordship,” Jongho mumbled after a while. “Why do you fight like a human?”

Yeosang smiled, impressed by Jongho’s word choice. “Because humans are the reasons spirits exist. I have to force myself to love them all equally. I must never use my power to hurt them. I am not allowed to do that. If I do, my title will be revoked. But I have learned swordsmanship from humans, and that is the safest alternative I have. However…I feel like there is already bad news waiting for me on the mountain.”

After a short pause, Jongho tried to guess. “…The general…?”

Yeosang nodded. “That day was so strange…I remember everything and nothing at the same time.” Yeosang stopped abruptly, having intended to continue with _And what happened that day is also the reason we are here now_ , but he chose not to.

“I’ve always been in good relations with general Hwang. He would always praise me in front of my father. I would have never thought he begrudged His Highness.”

A short, but heavy silence dropped over them. “But was it His Highness that he begrudged?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m only asking you. As you knew him better.”

“…It doesn’t matter anymore, Your Lordship. Things will never be the same in the capital.”

With fault teeming in his throat, preventing him from speaking, Yeosang lowered his head. Perhaps if it was Hongjoong instead, he would have told him what was on his mind. Jongho looked nowhere near angry with him, but not even Yeosang was sure if he blamed him for everything or not. The spirit debated whether he should apologise, but the next time he looked in Jongho’s direction, the boy had closed his eyes again. His hair and clothes were soaked in rain. He calmed his breath so he would not shiver. In silence, Yeosang sent warm winds his way to envelop him and warm him up. When Jongho opened his eyes to ask if he had done that, Yeosang had already closed his.

By their chains, they were dragged out of the carriage like livestock before slaughtering and surrounded by swords. They were in the court of a manor with red painted gates and doors meant to resemble the palace, and naming plaques above each building. No voices came from anywhere, no animal sounds and no village life, like the patch of earth they stood upon was stranded somewhere within Sungjo’s utopia, and this utopia was real. He wore red like the king, and the crown on his head resembled Hongjoong’s, and only the one who had tailored it would have been able to tell that it was made out of cheaper materials. Seeing how the red reflected brightly in the daylight, Yeosang was taken back to the memory when he grabbed Hongjoong’s robe by accident and flew away from him in mid-panic. When he realised what he had been wearing, he felt as if be committed a blasphemous act. And at present, he had to look at a man he abhorred swimming in his own vanity, and vaunting his brother’s honour like it was his own.

One slaughter and three severed arms later, Jongho and Yeosang were shoved into the same prison cell. There, it was dark and it smelled of hay and mildew. There was more dust than air to breathe. Yeosang had the blood of many on his tongue, but what he found most nauseating was how different they had all tasted. Their cell was sealed shut with a lock, two pairs of chains, and cursed talismans glued to the wooden bars by a shaman. The lack of reaction when the seer saw him was enough for Yeosang to know that he might have also been a fraud. However, when their hall was free of human presence, Yeosang casually unwrapped the chains and rope from around his wrists and went to inspect the talismans.

“Your Lordship?” Jongho whispered. Yeosang lifted his palm, gesturing for him to wait. He could not recognise the characters, but upon touch they burned his hand. With a leap of courage, he grasped one, crumpled it in his palm, and tossed it away, chanting his brother’s name in his mind like humans would spit curse words. Smoke rose from his hand. “Are you trying to escape?”

Yeosang shook his head, sitting back down. “Back at the sea…I played a song for a storm to strike there. But the rain has not begun yet. Soon.”

“Why bring a storm upon the sea?”

“Because that will anger Geummae. He will know it was me, and he will come here to chase me.”

"But how does he know where you are now, since you changed locations?"

"The rainwater soaked within our clothes from back there. It's like his eyes and ears."

“Oh, he is the 'something' you are waiting for.”

Yeosang nodded. Then he waited for a short moment to pass. “Tonight, perhaps…I will clear you a path, and you will escape. I will search for your sword, and I will bring it to you.”

“How will you do all of this alone?”

“It is not the first time I was imprisoned. I’ve been through this before.”

“Why would you ever let yourself be imprisoned, when you can so easily escape?”

“…Life experience.”

Jongho sighed.

Yeosang summoned an empty talisman in his hand, on which he wrote a protective spell, then shoved it within Jongho’s shirt while the boy held his breath. “For later. To protect you.” 

Jongho expressed his gratitude with a timid nod, and instinctively pulled himself more towards the corner. Inside their neighbour cell, two mice were fighting over a rice grain, and when one decided to run off, Jongho placed his foot over the one hole where it could have escaped, then watched it fend off for itself. They both ran in the opposite direction, through dirt and hay. He smiled to himself, not knowing why, but when he turned around to face Yeosang, he saw the spirit had been watching the interaction. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Were you thinking about something?”

“No, just…Maybe…As someone who’s been in the palace for so long, do you think things would have been different if…you know, some people had made different decisions?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Jongho replied. “I can’t imagine how things would have been if His Highness would have served only as Sungjo’s regent. I would have never had a chance to be so close to His Highness. I may have become a scholar instead. The only good outcome I see is that none of this would have happened. I think…I believe…I hope. And maybe we would have never had the chance to meet you. What do you think?”

Yeosang adjusted his position, tilting to the side, with his knees to his chest, and his head leaned against the wall. “I was fated to meet Hongjoong anytime after his nineteenth birthday. That is what San hyungnim, the seers and the starts have told me. When he was a little boy, he saved my life, you see. And in the spirit world, deeds like those never go unreturned. So from this perspective alone, I believe it would have been the same. I do not know about his life at the palace, however. Maybe he would have grown up differently. And maybe his views on ruling would have been different.”

“Are you disappointed in him?”

“No. I never was. But I’ve always been wondering if that is what his heart truly told him.” 

“His Highness has become more and more indecisive lately. I have never felt him so insecure. He has always been, but never this much. One day he was grateful for having been born king. The next day he thought of it as a curse. One day he would extend his meetings, he’d have more ideas and answers than there were questions, leaving the councillors in awe at the brilliance of his mind. The next day he would refuse to participate in the morning assembly, claiming he did not want anything anymore. He would look at the sky and ask us why do the birds fly…We laughed at him…I wish we didn’t. We made him very upset that day.”

“And did you answer him in the end?”

“I don’t know why birds fly. They have wings, so they fly. But I don’t know why…Your Lordship can fly too.”

Yeosang nodded.

“Why do you fly?”

“Because I was blessed enough to be able to…I fly because I can…And I fly because I want to. And sometimes, because I have to. There are no other reasons.”

“I should quote this to His Highness.”

“No. Tell him it was you who said it. If he asks again. Let him know you understand him, and maybe he will want to be king again.”

“Do you also think he is conflicted?”

“Very. He was so easily swayed. I thought this of him from the moment I saw him…How easy it was to make him question his true wishes.”

“I thought this is what you might do to him, Your Lordship, and that is why I did not trust you. I thought you were going to charm His Highness into leaving the throne and have him…I don’t know, elope.”

“Elope? Out of all things?”

“He would have. Metaphorically.”

“…I know. A part of me was afraid of this. He used to be so…”

“Infatuated.” 

“Oh, stop.”

“Just a bit obsessed.”

“Not at all.”

“Fascinated.”

“That I’ll take.”

“I vote for ‘infatuated’. Oh, or blinded.”

“We’ll go with blinded.”

“He was blinded by you.”

“He was.”

“He still is.”

“Not as much. Our relationship has changed. I wanted to be more of a counsellor to him, but he saw me as something more. And then,” He sighed. “And then I fell into his trap as well.”

Jongho gathered within himself. He connected the tips of his toes, burying his chin to his chest. “I’ve always been very fond of Your Lordship myself.” He confessed in his sweetest voice. Yeosang looked at him surprised, pretending not to have known. “But seeing His Highness happy with you…made me happy too.”

“One day you will find someone who will make you even happier.”

“Oh, but I don’t want someone. It’s alright if I just admire the people I like from far away.”

“Do you not want to settle down when you’re older?”

Jongho shook his head. “The three of us have always had this in common. Especially His Highness. How indoctrinated he was ever since he came out of the womb, but there has always been a part of his intellect that no lesson has ever been able to pierce through. The part of his mind where his freedom laid. Ever since he was a child, I heard that he loved making people worry. He knew that he never wanted to marry. Only if duty forced him to. Mingi and I were just about the same…Sometimes I wish I was more filial.”

“But what is it that you wish to do? If one day you will retire.”

“I don’t think His Highness has ever told you this, but the three of us made a promise to one day build a ship.”

“A sailing ship?”

“Yes. None of us know how to build one, but we’ve always wanted to. Even if it will not sail, His Highness said, we will be proud that it was us who built it.”

“…I hope one day you will.”

“Would you sail with us?”

Yeosang smiled with the intention of accepting, but held his answer back for one more moment. He looked in Jongho’s eyes. Beady and innocent like a fawn’s. They shone like they reflected sunlight and sparkling rivers, although where they were there was no light. “No.” He replied. “This is a promise that you three made. You should keep it that way. But I will wait for you at the shores. To bid you well and to welcome you.”

Jongho had not known him well enough to be able to tell that Yeosang regretted that promise the moment he said it. But Jongho met him with the most hopeful smile he could ever display. Yeosang’s chest tightened the more he looked at him. “You know,” Yeosang went on. “His Highness has once told me about how he wishes you would call him ‘hyung’ at least once.”

“He really said that?”

“He did. He said he would allow it.”

“But I couldn’t. I’m not allowed to be informal with him.”

“I know. I respect that. I just told you what he told me. I shared his secret.”

Jongho showed him a playful smile, with the spirit returned.

On the opposite side to the entrance to the prison was a window. An uneven circle carved into stone. “Here’s what I want you to do.” At times, Yeosang looked at how much light poured in from outside. “After the sun sets, I will clear you a path. You will get out of here, and before you leave Geumcheon, I need you to find out what you can about Lady Minyeong. I doubt she is here.” He said. His instincts have told him that clouds were gathering above the far sea that met the Taebaek mountains. His abdomen tingled like irregular heartbeats, and soon so did the pulse in his temples. He prayed Hongjoong and Mingi were still together, hopefully returning to the capital.

Jongho nodded.

When enough time had passed, Yeosang stood up and shifted, with no warning or explanation. Jongho crawled to the cell door, following the glow of the silver snake as much as the weak light permitted him too. Then he sat back, and concentrated all of his strength on his hearing. His hands were long numb. For a moment, the world around him had gone eerily quiet.

He had never feared being alone. Nor did he ever found himself in a situation where he had to be. The promise to build a ship together with his best friends was not the only promise they had made. To him, the duty to his king was one of his best personality traits. Even Mingi, before whom Jongho was transparent, thought all he could ever talk about was his duty to the king. During that time alone, he thought of himself. And even then, he felt guilty. He thought where he had gone wrong. Why it was him who was captured and taken away. Why did he allow himself to be slow? He wished he knew.

He rested his eyes to distract himself from his rumbling stomach and the discomfort in his arms.

The next time he was awoken was not that long after. Soon came the sound of soft, but rushed pacing, and the image of an alert Yeosang carrying Jongho’s sword. He ripped all the burning talismans, and used his claws to dig through the iron and break the chains and locks. “Quickly,” He said. Jongho obeyed, never having been more hesitant. Yeosang broke both restraints from around Jongho’s wrist, then took his hand and rushed him outside.

“Now?” Jongho whispered, panicked.

“Yes. He’s in the ancestral hall.”

“But his guards-”

“Just trust me.”

Jongho retrieved his sword, his hand hovering above the pommel as he held it. There was a faint smell of blood wafting in the air around them. By instinct, Jongho licked the inner wall of his cheek. In that darkness, his shadow had expanded. Wide enough to fit an entire pack of wolves. And the wolves had eyes all throughout the grounds. Outside the prison was as clear as if the manor had been abandoned. No voices came from the residences nearby, other than faint chants from the ancestral hall. On the ground there were tracks like those of carriages, but thinner, as if someone had been dragged, but they ended abruptly when they met the wall.

Before preparing to jump over, Jongho looked at Yeosang one more time. The spirit nodded, never having looked back to see if someone had seen them. It took Jongho no less than that look to understand why Hongjoong had always felt so powerful in the spirit’s presence. Jongho, then, understood that if he wanted to climb on the tallest house and jump, Yeosang would be there to catch him. He smiled and nodded back. “I will find out what happened to Lady Minyeong and report to His Highness.”

“Good. Also,” Yeosang said as if most of him refused to. In his hand he held Nari. “Take-” He swallowed in vain, grasping the flute in his palm until the shape of the bamboo it was made out of would leave marks. “Take this. And give it to His Highness.” He smiled. “To Hongjoong.”

“But that is yours.”

“Give it to him. Please.”

With great hesitance, Jongho took the flute, examining it briefly. When he lifted his eyes back up, he saw Yeosang taking small steps back, then he slowly raised his hand. To wave him goodbye or to join him in escaping, Jongho didn’t know.

Jongho secured the flute in the back of his belt, then tossed his sword over the wall. He effortlessly climbed over it, looking at Yeosang one more time before jumping.

On the other side of the wall lied a bleeding pile of red uniforms, all appeared to have been bitten by a snake in different parts of their faces. Their blood ran cold before melting the snow under.

Yeosang sighed, and waited. His least favourite thing to do. Selfishly, he wished he felt something in his liver. But then again, feeling something meant Hongjoong being distressed. He felt nothing, but in that moment even that was better.

He quickly brushed the thought away from his mind and turned around. Sparing the prison entrance one last glance, he headed to the ancestral hall where Sungjo was supposedly praying. While he waited, he also summoned San’s name. After he felt that his brother was listening, Yeosang recited all of Hongjoong’s wishes to him for them to be remembered.

The wishes he had made when they encountered Eunbaem’s shrine.

And the ones he had made out of his crystallised tears. Back when times had been better.

He opened his eyes at the sound of the doors opening. Sungjo’s guards had already assumed their defensive stance, while their master looked around his courtyard, bobbing his head lazily, but impressed. He calmly approached Yeosang, bearing the most unbearable smirk the spirit had ever seen. It reminded him one of his unfaithful past lovers who had been stricken with a cold and left him bedridden to death. He smirked just about the same way. Yeosang wished he had Hongjoong’s boldness to slap it off his face.

“I bet you think you did something smart there.” Sungjo said, gently. “Did you really think that just because I sent no one after him, he was free to go?…Did you really think that all of my men are here?” He shook his head, grinning. “Nothing moves within Geumcheon without my knowledge and without my order. The Order of the Black Dragon is spread all over the country, like plague…And I will tell you this once…When they bring me back the boy, I will skin and roast and eat him right in front of you. That will teach you never to be smart with me again.”

Yeosang clenched his jaw, and although his eyes stung with all the dust and sorrow that had gathered in them, he maintained them wide and piercing.

“Now what? You will drag me back to my cell and seal it?”

“No. In fact, I am quite entertained by how you are standing here like this. You’re not trying to run. You came all the way here to protect that little puppy. But now puppy escaped. So why not kill me now? What is it that you are waiting for?”

“It was never in my own interest to kill you. It goes against my morals to steal from the poor and kick down the weak. However, I am also interested in why you stand before me like this. Were you not on a mission to get rid of your little brother?”

“No. I never said anything about wanting to kill him. I have nothing against his existence. If I killed him, I would be very bored. I took him out to play in that which he called a rebellion. And the way he threw that tantrum and he cried had gotten a good laugh out of me…The ‘queen’ is gone. His son is gone with her…But I am far from done.” He paused, giving Yeosang a chance to take his words in. “You see…the blood of insanity runs in the royal family. It’s one of those dark little secrets that anyone who lends an ear shall have it slit off. Our great-grandfather killed someone. And so did our grandfather. And so did our father. Soon it will be my little brother’s turn. To kill blood from his blood.”

“He would never.”

“…Said everyone else.” Sungjo crossed his hands at his back, laughing softly. “So that’s why…I don’t want to kill my little brother. Because I love him. But he doesn’t love me. And that makes me sad. And…And because of that…I’ve decided to remind him why we’re of the same blood. One day he will lose his mind. And I would love to witness that. He was always forced to believe that the royal blood was such an indestructible weapon. That we can move mountains simply because we were given a ceremony at birth…But we are all alone. We are powerless alone. We are powerful until someone will prove us wrong. If a king is alone, and he tells someone ‘I am king’ and that person does not believe him…that is how the king loses his power…That being said, why would I want to kill him?” He asked, taking one small step closer. “When he could kill himself? When I could let death eat him from the inside?— You’ve met him, you saw how little it takes for him to lose his mind…I love him for that.”

“He has never lost his mind. Every time he felt weak, he came back stronger than ever. And he will never stop. He is nothing like those people.”

“I wish I could agree. But you see, it takes a lot more than sharing a bed with the king to know the strings around the palace life. There is a lot of blood soaked between the wood boards in those floors…And I hope you know your presence there did not help at all! How countless rumours circled the palace walls about the king having been forced into sodomy!”

“Then you’d be unhappy to know that it was never a matter of forcing.”

“Ah, look at you. So proud of it. You should definitely add that to your titles.”

Yeosang’s nails grew into claws with an apoplectic wave, but Sungjo laid hold of his wrist even before the spirit thought of raising it. He smiled, squeezing until the pulse in his wrist beat through Sungjo’s hand. “Have I offended you? Rather, do you have the right to be offended when you are the one who besmirched the name of the royal family? I say you do not. Thank the gods and spirits that the king and queen are dead, right? Had they been alive, they would have had my little brother assassinated instead.” With his bones close to snapping, Sungjo released him, having taken pity on him. “But…I will be nice to you…And I will give you the chance to repent.” His shoulders softened, and so did his eyes. For a second, it was enough to make Yeosang let his guard down. “Come with me.”

Although the gentleness in Sungjo’s voice haunted him, Yeosang followed. Sungjo took him back to the ancestral hall, ordering everyone to not follow them. The white and fragrant incense smoke trailed through the room in thick streaks.

But right before the altars lied the centrepiece. The unanimated body of a middle-aged woman dressed in royal clothing, sleek dark wigs decorated with gemstones. Her skin was empty of colour, her mouth had been filled with pearls and cotton balls, and her eyes were forced closed with a blindfold. Her body hung from the ground by her throat and arms, like a puppet, and around her feet was a circle of blood inscribed with incantations which Yeosang was too afraid to read. Her cheeks were soaked in white powder which had snowed down onto the chest of her shirt, but her dark, bloodless skin still pierced through. The body looked dead for no less than two months, but no decaying stench came from her. Upon further examining, Yeosang noticed the traces of sewing beginning from the woman’s throat until who knew how low.

“Do you know who this woman is?”

Yeosang wished he didn’t. Nonetheless, he could not bring himself to speak the name aloud. So he shook his head and pulled his sleeves over his shaking hands.

“This is my mother. Kim Minyeong.” Sungjo said, heavily. Yeosang averted his eyes, but no matter where else he looked, he could still feel the woman’s dead and blindfolded eyes always searching for his.

“…What happened?”

“An accident.” Sungjo replied right away, walking up to his mother to brush away all the powder from her clothes. He, then, stood there, as still as she was, and stared. “My accident.”

Yeosang embraced himself loosely, crossing his arms over his stomach, his arm pressed against his liver. “Why?”

Finally lowering his hand, Sungjo turned around, his head hanging low. “She has angered me…She told me to take everything I stole back to the palace. That bitch told me to apologise…After everything she put me through…After all I’ve done in her name…After all the power she made me believe I had.”

“And thus you killed her.”

“Maybe I should not have. But things have been quiet since she is gone.” Sungjo approached Yeosang, not seeming to stop when the distance between them was considered decent. He forced himself within Yeosang’s space, not having known that the only other person to have ever been so close to him was Hongjoong. “Bring her back.” He ordered. No pathos in his voice.

“…What.” Yeosang choked out in the form of a whisper. “I cannot do that.”

“You can. You’re a spirit.”

“No. This is not what we do. And even if we did, I would still refuse. Not only because her soul was wicked, but you are asking me to grant you a wish when you committed a cardinal sin. You have no right to ask me to bring her back to you when you are the one who took her life.”

Sungjo smiled gently, then took a thick lock of Yeosang’s hair, twirling it around his finger. “Why do you like getting brave with me?” And he tugged, pulling Yeosang until their chests met.

Yeosang tried to push himself away, had it not been for the sudden ache in his liver. Yeosang appeared to be staring into Sungjo’s eyes, when in reality, the spirit saw nothing there. His vision blanked, and the sounds he perceived sounded like someone had tried to speak to him from a sea away, and he had to lip read.

He felt nothing when Sungjo threw him to the ground, and when his head bashed against the wooden floor like a knock against a coffin, he felt like he was drowning. When he lifted his head he saw bloodstains dropping from his face, but he did not know from where. “You cannot kill me.” He said as if he threatened, his shaking hands clenched into tight fists.

“Oh, but I do not want to kill you. Killing you would be easy. You see, there is a hole in this riddle of yours. You can say that there is a single way to kill you, but that does not exempt you from torture. If I dunked your head underwater and held you there for minutes…and minutes on end, would you die? Probably not. But would you suffer? Yes. If I severed your head right now. Would you die? No. But would you still feel the pain of having your spine torn? Yes. Would you still bleed dry for…who knows how long spirits bleed for? Yes, you would.” He smiled. “So, you see, it does not really matter to me how you died. Because, look, you are already bleeding and trying not to whimper. That, my love, is the fruition of torture. Which is exactly why you are here. I have decided that now.” He sunk his hand through Yeosang’s hair like a hawk’s claws, pulling with the strength of scalping him with his hand alone. “You see, I have always allowed people to outsmart me. I have always let people think they know more than me, because that has never failed to tell me how far others’ minds go.”

A thick lump amassed itself at the base of Yeosang’s throat. The ache in his abdomen came and left at the speed of fighting for air. Wherever Hongjoong was, he could not breathe. “Whoever threw you from your throne has not thrown you low enough.” The lump in his throat was like a dark cloud— any moment in danger of spilling tears. Through his hair, Sungjo’s hand trembled in anger. “Your mother was the one who held your power. She took it with her when you murdered her. As she should have. And for that…I am glad that I cannot bring her back to you. This is why you still haven’t incinerated her, isn’t it? To give you the illusion that you are still powerful…Sungjo, how many more of your men must I kill for you to understand that you are weak on your own?”

Yeosang wished he could hear him. The sound that came out of his mouth was Hongjoong’s voice, and the wind that circled around the room also sounded like him. The arms which grabbed him and dragged him outside were too big to be Hongjoong’s, and yet they felt like they were his. The hands which tied him down— He knew they were not Hongjoong’s, but even so, he wished they were. The pain in his liver was so deep within and so similar to pins and needles, that he thought nothing of the voice who said “Drown him.” The hand which dunked his head into the water and held it there so pleasurably— through it, Yeosang was beginning to see a pattern. While his head was underwater, he opened his eyes and ears, beginning his reading. But in the water, there was nothing. No golden eyes reflecting, no dark nuances. The water he tasted had returned to its normal sweetness. When he was left alone to pant on the ground like a shot bird, he pitifully coughed out all the water in his lungs, gagging at the sensation of being unable to draw in breaths. With his last slivers of strength, he reached for his flute, a cold shiver running up to the tips of his fingers with the realisation that he had not had it anymore.

The same deep, demonic voice spoke to him, gently and close to his face, but no matter how high his chin was raised, his eyes were unable to raise with it. They were flooded with tears that refused to spill. Not when he was screamed at. Not when he was wrapped in a straw mat and flogged to the verge of his skull breaking. Not when that one voice wiped the blood on his forehead, then spat on his face while laughing. Not when his nails were pulled from their nail bed with nothing, but a pair of shears. Then, he could only scream. His eyes had fallen into a deep slumber, but the entirety of his body pulsated with the heart of the earth, twitching and aching. When he slowly opened them, he felt a cold breeze against the nape of his neck. One that he had never felt before. Over him rained long strands of amber coloured hair, deluging over his bruised shoulders and arms and chest. Yeosang instinctively brushed his shoulder against his ear as he always did when he let his hair down, but then, he felt nothing. In a plain act of humiliation, his last remaining strands of hair were tossed in his face, with a voice ringing “This will teach you to never challenge the king’s words.”

Having heard that, Yeosang shed his first tear. As someone who was guilty of, indeed, challenging the king’s words. Yeosang cried in anger at himself, for having been incapable of being an independent thinker. With no more prophecies to fulfil, he had lived the past days not knowing what was best to do. He cried with the weight of all the people who died by his hand, who died in his name, or who will die because of him. He cried with guilt not having been punished enough for what he had put others through. With that thought alone pushing through, he stood up.

“Aren’t you going to ask me from which spirit I know these things from?”

Yeosang knew, but paid it no regard. The skin of his chest and arms was bare, and his trousers were scarcely hanging by his hipbones. His nose bled into his mouth, and his mouth bled onto his chest. The sight in his left eye had been reduced to only strings of light and a muted blend of colours, whereas the eyelid from his other eye had fallen so heavy from carrying blood within its creases, that he had kept closed. The blood pooled underneath his tongue ceased to bother him. If he was able to stand and ask for more, it meant it was not enough. _Please, let it be me_ , he remembered praying to San. In that moment, he wondered if his brother had truly listened. The pain in his liver had not ceased.

“Perhaps this will answer your question.” Sungjo said, pulling his collar to reveal his clavicle. Though his vision was weak, Yeosang had been able to distinguish the two dots of a snake bite, with a mark in their middle, in the shape of a green swirl. Yeosang’s heart hammered in his chest, opening his mouth, but he had no voice to speak with. With a mind and a body so weak and hurt and so pitiful to seek rescue, he could think of nothing else.

“I will say this one more time: Bring my mother back to me, and I will let you go.”

To Hongjoong, Yeosang was the absolute truth. When in reality, the spirit’s existence was a bittersweet truth. He could conceal the loss of control with utmost authority, and paint facts in unproven myths to make them appear believable. Although these have never been his choices. In centuries of living and thinking, he had hardly ever thought of himself. Yeosang was not the darkness that cloaked everything in mystery. He was a light so brilliant that averted people’s attention from the truth.

Yeosang raised his eyes from the ground, blood pooling like tears by his waterline. With a smile, he said “Long Live His Highness.” As his fangs sharpened beneath his lips, and venom coating them. Launching at Sungjo with seconds before he knew his knees would give in, he thrusted his fangs through his robe and through his clavicle. Venom poured out of his mouth and into Sungjo’s skin, forcing his jaw closed through bone and muscle. He spat out the patch of flesh when Sungjo hurled him to the ground with a horrid scream. Then, underneath his tongue, he secured the red jade ring. “Did I not tell you that I like it when people think they know more than I do?” Sungjo panted. Yeosang heard a smile in his voice.

“Beat him to death.”

Yeosang’s body twitched with his entire person. “No.”

His eyes shot open although so close to complete blindness. “Hongjoong,” He gasped, turning to his side to stand up.

“Hongjoong-” But the named died down when the sole of a boot met his head, and another to his stomach. His teeth were clenched.  


His body curled protectively.

His tears burned salt into the wounds of his eyes.


	20. Reflection II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hongjoong kept his eyes pressed closed until the sound diminished into the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant chirp of birds. It was colder and brighter."

_When Hongjoong opened his eyes he was back standing in the middle of a wide street. At first glance it very much resembled the road that lead to the palace. He looked around in despair, looking atop of the houses for the tall and sharp roof of the palace court. But there was none. Only the city walls, deserted and unguarded. To his right, in the far distance he could hear the faint whisper of the sea breeze._

_Roaming the streets he saw a vixen larger in size than a normal one, carrying something big between its teeth. Something wrapped in besmirched cloths. The fox scurried through the streets, stealthily. Hongjoong would have paid it no mind if he had not heard the soft whimper of a baby. His senses flared up, dashing in the direction the fox was headed. The vixen gently laid the baby down and started rubbing her cheek against the baby’s head to comfort him, and when the little one stopped, she continued her journey._

_She left the wrapped babe before two thick, wooden doors. She put the baby down at the top of the stairs, then began whining and scratching at the doors insistently, grabbing the ring and slamming it back down until she heard an angered shout coming from inside. When the man’s steps could be heard clear enough, Yeori ran away. The man swung the front door open with the force of a gush of wind, a knife in his hand, but when he looked down he dropped the blade in shock. He fell to his knees, stuttering unintelligible words in whispers, then he crawled on his palms and knees to the baby, picking him up with utmost care. He desperately looked to his left and right for anyone in the vicinity. Then the voice of a worried woman came, which then was also at a loss of words. Hongjoong’s heart beat rapid-fire._

_Dragging his legs after him like they had been dug into the ground, he followed the glowing trail of the fox, wanting to yell the first thing that came into his mind to draw her attention. But the fox diminished into a sphere of light, small enough to cup into both palms, then it became larger and larger, elongating into a human sized form, then taking the shape of fox ears, arms, long amber hair, and the skirt of a red hanbok._

_“Yeori-ah.” He said. Smiling the same way she would smile at him, Yeori turned around. “That baby…whose is it? Did you steal it?”_

_Yeori shook her head. In her hand she held a white, feathered fan. “I found him in an abandoned ox cart. Those people I gave him to have been praying for a little boy for years now. They will care for him.”_

_Hongjoong looked back in the direction Yeori came from, his lips parted in confusion, but when he turned around to face her again, she was gone._

_The colour of the sky was a muted one, there was no sun or moon or stars, and the streets were empty. Doors were left open, the horses in their stalls were still as stone. It was the only dream Hongjoong did not know how to wake up from._

_He returned to the inn Yeori left the baby at, and reached his hand to touch the door. But when he did, he saw the surface turned to water ripples. He pushed his hand until it had fully crossed the threshold. Withdrawing his hand, he then closed his eyes and fully walked through the gates. It was a large private property with three large buildings resembling kisaeng houses. In the centre was a small garden built around a huge oak tree. The building to his right was the smallest of them, with a thick, redwood door, above which there was a large lacquer plate reading ‘Hwagyeong’. Nailed to the left pillar by the door was a smaller plaque with the name ‘Kang’. Hongjoong rubbed his fingers against his palms as if to assure himself that he was still awake and rational, and proceeded to walk towards it. Muffled and anxious voices came from the other side of the door, joined by rushed steps and soft splashes of water. Hongjoong waited by the front door, hovering his finger over the door, watching the iron move like water. Holding his breath, he walked through the door. In the lobby there was not one soul, and no voices came from the other rooms either. Except for the washroom in the back. “But are you sure? There was nobody carrying him? Has someone really left this little one on the stairs?” A woman said. Her voice was young and bright. The door from the washroom swung open, and a tall and slender lady in a cream coloured hanbok scurried out of. Her hair was dark, arranged in a disheveled bun, and her age only showed at the slight wrinkles from her eyes. She reminded Hongjoong of his own mother, but he remembered her being slightly shorter. She returned to the washroom wish a small pile of new clothes, and a short moment later, both her and her husband left the room, with the lady carrying the babe, and the man holding the child’s old, ragged cloths. “Should we not ask anyone? Or tell the Chief State Councillor?” She asked. Her husband shook his head right away, laying his hand underneath his wife’s, the one holding the baby’s head._

_“Why do they have to know?”_

_“But do you not feel guilty?”_

_“Why would I feel guilty that the spirits finally heeded our prayers? They gave him to us because his family did not deserve him.”_

_Hongjoong’s heart numbed in his chest. Numbed, like when his hands were freezing, and Yeosang held them to warm them up. The kind of numbness that reminded him he was not alone._

_“What should we name him?”_

_A godly form of joy overcame Hongjoong’s chest. His body was still with shock at how much happiness that had brought him. In the back of his mind, he remembered where he left his physical body to rest, and no kind of exhaustion would have been able to compare to the sight before him. As much as he had wanted to see more, he regretfully turned around to leave. He wanted to use his time wisely and find out what the name of the city was. “Yeosang.” Said the man after a while. Hongjoong closed his eyes, whispering words of gratitude to no one but the two of them._

_He retuned to the street he had awakened in. The streets were just as deserted as before. He walked calmly, trying to determine if the image before his eyes was moving along with him or not. The road seemed endless._

_When he turned around to look back again, a little someone had bumped into him, startling him to the brink of waking up. It was little boy in muted coloured peasant clothing. In his hand he held a bamboo transverse flute, and in the other he held a thin blade which he used to carve the holes in the instrument. “I’m sorry.” Hongjoong said, giving the boy his hand to help him stand, but the little one crawled back on his elbows and feet, then stood up on his own, aggressively dusting off the dirt from his shirt. His hair was dark and wavy, his skin tanned, with a little horizontal streak across his nose. A slight sun burn. On his eyelid and cheek he had a pink mark. Hongjoong picked up his flute before he did, blew off the dust, and handed it back to the little boy, although he was afraid to take it. “Did you make this on your own?”_

_The boy nodded._

_“That means you can play well.”_

_He shook his head. In the end he took his flute back, protecting it to his chest. His dark eyes trembled, but Hongjoong saw him looking at his clothes and hair and wounded hands._

_Hongjoong bent down, to meet the boy’s eyes better, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can you tell me where this is? I’m afraid I might have gotten lost.” He asked in a gentle voice._

_“Where this is?”_

_“What is this city called?”_

_“…Pohang.”_

_Hongjoong nodded. “Pohang. I see.” He spoke with difficulty, as his lungs refused to draw air. His chest was clouded with feelings he never knew existed. The boy looked well, his skin was smooth and glowing. “…What’s your name?”_

_The boy frowned. “You should say your name first.”_

_Hongjoong chuckled. “You’re right…I’m Kim Hongjoong. I’m not from here. I was looking for a place to stay for the night.”_

_Tilting his head, the little one pointed his flute towards the same street he came from before. “There’s an inn. My parents own one.” He leaned his instrument down. “Kang Yeosang…my name.”_

_Nodding, Hongjoong looked downcast. His heart thrummed in his chest. “Yeosang-ah,” He said. A part of him already regretted. Beyond the regret at present, lied another one. A much bigger one that he could have avoided. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, but the little boy was yet too small to know what pain was._

_Yeosang frowned. “For what? I don’t know you.”_

_Hongjoong swallowed and smiled widely to keep his lips from trembling. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”_

_“It’s alright. It happens.”_

_“…It does.”_

_The next time he blinked, the boy was gone. Hongjoong filled the hole in his heart with a deep breath, standing back up. He looked towards the sky when he began to think of a way to wake up, although he did not want to. He had full control over his dream, yet there was nothing more he wanted to see there. Trying to persuade himself into waking up, he closed his eyes, connecting his conscience to the body that sat beyond the dreamscape. The mattress he slept against. The warmth at his feet._

_But when he opened his eyes he found himself in an even darker place that could have been only the depths of a cave lighted by blue flames levitating against the stone ceiling. In the far corner sat a quivering figure wrapped in a blanket, grasping the fabric in his hands, almost tearing it apart. A woman with a fox’s tail and fox’s ears calmly approached him, not yet touching him. The boy covered his face and head, and a moment later he started crying. Yeori touched his head through the blanket. “Yeosang-ah…Come out. Let me clean you up.” She urged him as gently as a mother, but when she received no reply, she proceeded to pull the blanket completely off the boy’s head. Although he was merely an illusion into his own dream, Hongjoong slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle a gasp. Yeosang’s face teemed with violet bruises, his lip had been split open, and a trail of blood stained his nose and cupid’s bow. Yeori touched his face, then gently dabbed the towel along the dry bloodstains on his face. “Stop crying. I won’t hurt you.” Yeori moved her hand to cup Yeosang’s chin instead, but she was careful not to pierce her skin with her claws. Yeosang never looked anywhere near her face. His eyes were always down to one corner on the floor where the light could not reach like he was hypnotised. “Have you eaten anything today?” She asked, her tone a hint more assertive. When Yeosang shook his head, she sighed. “Yeosang-ah, listen…” She placed the towel inside the water bowl, looking right into Yeosang’s eyes although he never looked back at her. “If anyone asks…you have to tell them that San was the one who found you. And that you went with him willingly. You mustn’t tell anyone that you refused to.”_

_Yeosang leaned his back against the wall, wrapping the blanket tightly around him. Yeori looked at him tenderly, although the Yeosang before her was a terrifying, nightmare worthy sight. “Why?”_

_“Just…Do as I say.” She ruffled Yeosang’s hair, then she slowly stood up not to startle him, and went to the other side of the cave to prepare Yeosang’s bed. He raised his chin slowly from the floor and onto the knife laying on the tabletop, eyeing it with a very unorthodox intent. Hongjoong stood right next to the arch that worked as a doorway, staring at the young boy who shared the same name with the person he loved the most in the world. A person whom his mind refuse to acknowledge as being the same. Yeosang looked at Yeori like that one unholy presence in the corner of the room at night, that waited for all the souls to fall asleep. He was as still as stone, with only hisbright eyes wandering. When Yeori left the room with the bowl filled with bloody water, Hongjoong had unknowingly followed her like his mind told him to protect her._

_“Y-Yeori-ah,” He whispered. Yeori stopped, smiled at him like she did the first time, when proceeded to walk away. Stunned, Hongjoong failed to follow her until she faded into the darkness, with no blue flame following her._

_Forcing himself out of his trance, he walked in her direction, towards the first chamber of the cave, where a bloody Yeosang lied sobbing onto the floor, and before him was Yeori’s unanimated body with a knife spiked through her stomach, blood gushing out of the wound like through a spring, out of her mouth and nose. Red rivers emptied in Hongjoong’s direction, pouring ceaselessly. His knees buckled, his heart raced violently, and his stomach tightened in such a way that the acids began bubbling up. Witnessing the entire scene was a young man fully dressed in white robes and veils, with silver hair trailing down onto the floor, and bells decorating his ankles, whom Hongjoong identified as no one, but San. A white, scintillating aura enveloped him, making his features hard to notice, but his face profile was gentle in all of its sharpness. “What have you done…” He whispered abruptly. “What were you thinking…”_

_Yeosang’s shoulder and head fell hard onto the floor, covering his face with his already bloody hands. He curled into himself and cried miserably. Carding his fingers through his hair, he tugged and tugged, harder each time, groaning in frustration when it would not hurt enough. “Stand.” San said, but Yeosang made no effort. “Yeosang. Stand, I said.”_

_“Leave me alone.”_

_“I would have. But now. After this. I will not.”_

_Yeosang’s eyes sparked open as if awakened from a nightmare, and in the blink of an eye he pulled the knife out of Yeori’s stomach and erratically swung it in San’s direction, sobbing uncontrollably. “I said leave! Leave me alone! I don’t want this! I told you I don’t want it! I don’t want you here, I HATE YOU!” Yeosang cried, holding the knife’s hilt with both of his weak hands. San’s instincts were sharper than Yeosang’s mind at the time, and he lifted his hand in the air, when the knife began to pull itself away from Yeosang’s hands. He fought back, grabbing the knife by its blade until it tore his skin apart, but San made it vanish completely._

_“Why do you hate me?” San’s voice rang gently, like the bells on his ankles. He had the voice of an ideal father that the philosophical texts read about. “Tell me what have I done for you to hate me this much.”_

_“Whose fault is it that I’m like this?! Why didn’t you let me die?!”_

_“Was this all just a vengeful act, then? Is this why you murdered the one who sheltered you? Because you hate me? We protected you, and you wish death upon us now?”_

_“And what if I did?! Kill me and get rid of me!”_

_San took a step back, extending his arm. “You see, that is not an option anymore. Forgive me. You may hate me now, but one day you will find peace, and you will thank me.” He, then, closed his eyes, and chanting whispers could be heard from every corner of the cave in millions of voices at once, although it was just San’s lips mouthing the words. The bells on his anklets sung in tandem, and the sound of them raised to the ceiling like a dark cloud, and with them, Yeori’s body, with blood spilling from the hole in her stomach. Yeosang crawled backwards until his back hit the stone, panting with lips wide open, and blood pouring out of his nose into his mouth. Yeori’s body dispersed into glimmering glass shards, landing gently on the floor before twitching back to life. One by one they crawled towards Yeosang, all over his body, underneath his clothes, inside his eyes and ears and mouth. “If you do not fault yourself for it, then I punish you to carry her body as if it was yours. Years. Decades. Centuries. Until you will learn to honour those who care for you.” Yeosang screamed wildly, his sobs echoing past the cave walls, while his body distorted inhumanly. The shards stabbed through Yeosang’s skin, slowly, until her skin became vitric. He screamed until there was no trace left of his human voice._

_Hongjoong kept his eyes pressed closed until the sound diminished into the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant chirp of birds. It was colder and brighter. The sun did not beat down directly on Hongjoong, but he had to, however, shield his eyes as he opened them cautiously. He found himself at the top of a mountain, a different one that the one he lived around at present. San’s shrine at the time was currently under construction. Beside it sat Yeosang, now wearing a sky coloured coat. His hair had brightened into a sunset colour and had grown little over his shoulders. In his right hand he held the bottom of a broken ceramic jar, apathetically picking up shards with his other hand. His skin had completely healed, and Hongjoong was starting to remember the Yeosang he had falling so deeply in love with. But he was glad to have never seen that kind of frown on his face._

_“Who were those people?” Yeosang asked, not lifting his head from the ground._

_San kneeled in front of him and helped him collect the shards. Other two identically looking ceramics sat on the little altar by the shrine. By the manner in which Yeosang began frowning when San sat next to him, Hongjoong understood that it was him who purposely broke it._

_“Oh, you saw them.” San responded as benignly as ever, if not a little shyer that time as well. “Just worshippers.”_

_“They touched you. And you touched them too. You would not do that to worshippers.”_

_San peeked at him, a smitten look on his face, but switched to sorrowful right away when he lowered his head. “You have sharp eyes.”_

_“Your paramours.” Yeosang said. San dropped the shard in his hand, but picked it up right away. “Is that what they are? Most people have just one. You have two.”_

_“It’s not as easy as that.” San took the pile of shards from Yeosang’s hands, leaning a concerned glare over the small cuts on his fingers. San touched every wound as if he played the strings of a zither, healing them with just a light tapping. “They’re important to me. But so are you. You’re my little brother, and I love you.”_

_“If you love me, then stop punishing me.”_

_“Well then behave and listen to me when I talk to you. I do not punish you because I want to. There is a punishment for every rule you infringe. If we do not subject to these rules, we will lose peace, order and discipline. I hate sending you into seclusion more than I hate anything else, and I miss you when you’re gone. So please…please stop thinking that I take pleasure in punishing you. Because I do not.”_

_Hongjoong awaited Yeosang’s response, but it never came._


	21. When The Skies Will Pit Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because Yeosang was not the wind to put Hongjoong’s fire out. Yeosang was the wind that spread it far and wide."

Hongjoong jolted awake at the sensation of something wet and cold against his forehead. His body was lying down, and his head rested on something soft. His hair was loose and drawn away from his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, cautious of the light, but when he noticed that the place he was in was dark, he found it safe to open them all the way. He was facing the ceiling of a large and rather empty room. Moving his fingers and toes little by little, he realised that he was under several layers of covers, one of which was his own outer robe, and he was barefoot, with only his socks on. He twisted his face in displeasure when he swallowed and he found his throat and lips as dry as tile dust. Blinking several times to draw the blur away from his vision, he took his first deep breath, calm and sleepy, embracing all the warmth around him.

Next to him was someone tall wrapped in dark robes, holding a cold compress in his hands. “You’ve come to. Finally.” The voice that spoke was low and gentle. Hongjoong tilted his head towards the sound, relieved to find out it was Seonghwa. He scarcely lifted his arm from under the covers, waving it slowly and aimlessly in the air, not knowing what his intention was. His mind was still asleep. Also unsure, Seonghwa took his hand, holding it between his. Hongjoong patted around Seonghwa’s, trying to regain his tactile sense, then he wrapped his entire hand around Seonghwa’s thumb, holding it weakly. “Wh-” He attempted, hissing at the new wave of pain. He could not yet speak. Seonghwa gently laid his hand down, stood up, then shortly returned with a cup of water for Hongjoong. The sea spirit wrapped an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders, leaning the king’s head against his chest, carefully placing him into a sitting position. Hongjoong touched his arm, his eyes hooded and bewildered. Seonghwa looked at him with pity.

Two days ago, while Seonghwa was trying to track Eunbaem down to reunite with them, three other sea spirits ran to him and shouted in despair that two unidentified individuals had jumped in the sea. Thinking it was an act of suicide at hand, Seonghwa rushed to the scene, prepared for an ascension ritual, only to drop the items in his hands and fall to his knees at the sight of Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s lifeless bodies. Their skin was white and blue and wrinkly. Overcome with distress, he took the two bodies to an abandoned monastery. He undressed them of their soaked clothes, changed them, and dried their hair, all while his mind flourished with scenario after scenario. While he cared for the cadavers, he realised it was on him to announce everyone else of their deaths. And while he did, he cried. He thought of Eunbaem and Yunho, two people whom the two were loved by so much. Then, by accident, the sea spirit who was with him at the time decided to check their pulse. Soon, Hongjoong woke up, coughed all the blood out of his lungs, then collapsed back in Seonghwa’s arms. Upon inspection, Seonghwa found out that Wooyoung had no water in his lungs at all, and that he was only in a very deep sleep.

“Drink slowly,” Seonghwa said, giving Hongjoong the cup to hold. His hands trembled aggressively, so Seonghwa cupped his hands around his while he drank.

Hongjoong sighed once he was done. He swallowed again, then carefully cleared his throat. “Where am I?” His voice was low and raspy, much more than when he woke up after one night.

“An old monastery. It’s safe here.” Seonghwa leaned his hand against Hongjoong’s covers. “I’m glad you woke up. I truly am. I worried.”

Hongjoong looked at his white, dry hands, and his nails each rimmed with red. “…How long…”

“I…I found you two days ago…In the sea…”

Nodding, Hongjoong placed the cup down. “…Wooyoung?”

“I believe he went outside for a while. He woke up this morning.”

Mindfully, Hongjoong stretched and massaged his hands and wrists, although it stung more than ever. One by one, he took the covers off him, welcoming the cold of the room. When he looked down at himself, he saw he was wearing a much larger, dark cotton shirt, and a pair of trousers which were rolled up to his ankles, which Seonghwa explain that were his. The sea spirit held his arms stretched and ready in case the king was about to lose his balance, and he did, when his knees were yet too weak to sustain his weight. Groaning, Hongjoong pushed himself up while he internally wrestled his physical weakness into obedience. “I can.” He told both of them. “I can.” And again, until his brain remembered it.

“I’ll prepare you two a meal. Don’t wander off too far.”

Hongjoong nodded, leaning against the wall while he put his boots on. His body was still too warm to perceive the winter. “…Is…Is Yeosang here too?” He did not look at Seonghwa while he asked. The silence in the room was enough of an answer.

He carefully walked to the monastery’s main door, frustrated at his weak eyes unable to catch up and work in concordance with his sense of balance. In the room next to the one he woke up in, he saw another young man sleeping on a straw mat, using a much bigger overcoat to cover himself. By the blush in his cheeks and the sleeping position, he recognised him as Jongho. Hongjoong leaned his arm against the doorway, and simply looked at him, smiling. He had an unpacked bag next to him. “The poor little thing,” Seonghwa said in a near whisper. “He was so frightened when he saw you. He will be more than exalted to see you awake and well.”

“How did you find each other?”

“After I took you two here, I went out to search for firewood and food…Then I saw him on a horse, and five other men chasing him. But before I arrived there, four of them were already dead. He took one of them as a prisoner. He’s outside.”

Hongjoong smiled proudly. Then he followed Seonghwa outside. But before he opened the door, Seonghwa stopped and pondered. “Your Highness, if I may…How exactly have you used those talismans I gave you?”

Hongjoong slanted his head, rubbing the nape of his neck while trying to recall a memory that seemed to have happened years ago. The night before he dreamt of Yeosang’s past. It was slow paced and one of the most realistic he has ever had. It was because of the dream which he remembered so vividly that he could not remember anything else. “I…” But when he closed his eyes, he became aware of all the wounds on his body. His ankle, his chest, and his face. Then he saw a cliff. Then he saw Yeosang’s face. “I used one to change my identity to Eunbaem, and the other one to revoke Geummae his spiritual name.”

Seonghwa stared at him, fascinated. “Apologetically, I must admit that I have never thought you would find out what those were for. His Highness is very sharp.”

Hongjoong nodded politely. He looked at Jongho’s sleeping face one more time before going outside. With hope in his eyes, he searched the monastery grounds for bright robes and amber hair, although he knew full well there was nothing. Seonghwa went in the opposite direction, then vanished beneath a light curtain of violet matter. Hongjoong sat by the door, near the stairs, idly admiring the view. To him, it was warm. He found bliss in the emptiness in his head. Other than Yeosang’s face as a little boy, and his screams and sobs while he sat besides Yeori’s corpse. He felt his head floating away from his shoulders, and yet, ironically, flooded.

From afar, he indeed saw a man sleeping while tied to a tree. He was tall and thick and his face was bruised. A perfect opponent for Jongho. On the other side of the monastery gate was a dark horse also resting his eyes. Hongjoong caressed his mane, with a jab of pain in his heart as he remembered Gureum.

Beside the broken path leading to the monastery, underneath a branchless tree, a young boy with black hair reaching his over his shoulders sat on a tree log, drawing things in the snow with a stick. Hongjoong studied him for a short while before making his way up to him. He wanted to see how his heart felt towards him, surprised himself to see that he felt nothing. His heart identified Wooyoung as a new friend. “What are you writing?”

Wooyoung quickly stroke through the characters. “Nothing. Just my name.”

“And what is your full name?”

“Jung Wooyoung, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong sat down next to him. “Write it again.”

Wooyoung shook his head right away, then threw the stick away.

Falling quiet, Hongjoong considered: “Are you literate?”

Letting his head hang low, embarrassment flooded his cheeks. “Master Yunho taught me some characters. I was just practising.”

Hongjoong took a thin branch, snapping it in half. “What does your last name mean? Do you remember?”

Wooyoung hid his cold, wounded hands underneath his sleeves. He would have probably already excused himself from the conversation if there was anyone else next to him. “Just…I know that this character and the one for ‘respect’ put together mean ‘courteous’.”

“Ah, so,” The character Hongjoong was about to write had fifteen strokes; on the ground he searched for a clearer spot where he could draw it big enough to be seen. “You start with these two above…they sort of look like a roof…and under it, you write this…this is the character for ‘west’. Under it, you draw the one for ‘big’. Then right next to it, as big as this one, you write the character for ‘mound’. This one is a radical, so you will have to learn these sooner or later.” Hongjoong explained slowly, drawing the character as beautifully as with a soft brush. When he looked Wooyoung’s way, the boy averted his eyes.

“Your Highness, you don’t have to treat me kindly.”

“How else am I supposed to treat you?”

“You died because of me.”

“No, I didn’t. I just took an inexcusably long nap. I’m alright now. And you look alright too.”

“But please don’t speak to me like I treated you well, because I did not. I don’t deserve this treatment from you.”

Hongjoong threw the branch away, then stood up, rolling his stiff shoulders. “For a lowborn, you have quite the nerve to order me…I get to decide how I treat you…And I believe you are worthy of another chance at life.”

“But why? Why would you say that, even now?”

Hongjoong recognised that tone, mostly from moments when Jongho failed to fulfil his duties, and Hongjoong still forgave him. There were times when Jongho would punish himself when no one else would. Neither Hongjoong or Mingi knew why the younger rejected kindness. Even in the present, when Hongjoong looked at Wooyoung, frowning, with his fists clenched, he couldn’t understand. “You said it yourself. When you were a spirit. You said you either want to be a human again so you could die a nobler death, or to be given your title…Given that I could not have done the latter…I went with the easier one…And here you are.”

“But are you a spirit, Your Highness?”

“Do I look like one?”

“I ask because no one else, other than the one who named me, would have been able to revert me.”

“…I know, but…I somehow made it happen. And I’m glad I did. Because if I didn’t, you would have hurt my Eunbaem.”

Wooyoung tilted his head. “Yours?”

“Mine.” Hongjoong said as sternly as signing a decree. Because the king’s word was final.

“Oh.” Wooyoung nodded to himself. Although Hongjoong had awakened less than an hour ago, and he was weak and hurt, he held much more power and control within his voice. The last rays of sun rays spilled into his flaming hair— a mirror reflecting dragons. “But I- I didn’t hurt him, did I?”

Hongjoong shook his head, then made his way back inside the monastery, with Wooyoung following him far behind. Before going back, he checked on Jongho again, to find him sitting down, with a comb in his hand and his hair tie in his mouth. A Jongho with his hair down was a once in a lifetime sight. When he spotted the king, he dropped everything he was doing, “Your Highness!” And crawled on his palms and knees to Hongjoong, then jumped on his feet and wrapped his arms around him in the most brotherly display of love he had ever shown. “You’re alright.” If Hongjoong had not been still confused and starved for days, he would have been able to reciprocate the affection. Then, he settled for only clapping his hand against Jongho’s back.

“And you. How have you been? What happened while I was…out.”

Jongho held his gaze. In that moment, he struggled to do so confidently. Through Hongjoong’s eyes, he saw the reflection of his own. Shaking. “Let’s…sit down and eat first.”

Hongjoong, ready to protest with his entire being, found his own body rebelling against his own decisions when the anxiety that had pooled into his chest met the nausea in his stomach. It was a hoard of sensations that he had always hated one at a time, but having to experience them all at once made him want to go cliff diving again. And for good that time.

The moment Seonghwa entered the monastery with boxes filled with beef pastries, Hongjoong held onto Jongho for dear life. To hold both of them at bay. Hongjoong tossed himself onto the mattress, regretting it instantly. The ceiling spun slowly, the acid of his stomach began boiling, and he had never felt his face so rough with stubble as he did then. He touched the floor next to his makeshift bed, turning his head left and right. “My sword?”

He heard Seonghwa sighing regretfully. “You must have dropped it in the sea, Your Highness. I have not been able to find it.”

Given the circumstances, that had been enough for a good part of Hongjoong’s mind to awaken at its brightest. He knew swords were only tools, and the one who wielded them, if he wielded them well, could become a weapon himself. It wasn’t the sword itself that it pained him to have lost. It was the memories of having seen it being forged and crafted. Inscribed with the names of people whom he loved with all his heart. It was not the blade that he regretted losing. It was the thought that those names were the closest to a family he has ever had in the past years. The passion and craftsmanship and symbol behind it. Hongjoong leaned his elbows against his knees. With his vision yet as a boat on a tumultuous sea, he looked at his palm. He could not distinguish the lines and creases yet, but he saw many colours. Little cuts and wounds and a grim rainbow of bruises.

When he lifted his head at the sound of steps, he was ready to smile when he saw Jongho again, but his gut was met with another nauseating feeling when he saw him holding a thin and blue object. “Nari.”

Jongho held the flute in both his palms like he carried a sword, dropping down to one knee when he gave it to Hongjoong. The king took it with a shaken hand. “…Why…” He whispered to himself, running his thumb over the carved lotus leaves. “Why do you…Why…”

“Your Highness-”

“Where is he?” Hongjoong demanded. “Tell me where he is. Now.”

Jongho exhaled, then took another deep breath, collecting all the bravery he had dropped the past day just to reply with: “No.”

“No?” Hongjoong’s shock could be felt from one sea shore to another. “What do you mean _no_? You dare-”

“I- I can! This time!”

“Tell me where Yeosang is!”

“I will, but after you take care of yourself!”

“What does that have to do with what I asked you?!”

“Your Highness! You look ill! You’re starved and dehydrated! I will not speak with you when you look as good as dead! Please, eat something and rest…Then I will tell you everything. Your feelings are not in place now.”

Hongjoong swallowed, although there was nothing but dryness in his mouth. “You don’t understand…I- I have to know where he is. I have to know if he’s alright. I haven’t seen him in days. I heard nothing from him. I know nothing of his whereabouts. You cannot deny me this when you give me his flute, when we all know he would never give up on it. This is his symbol, and it’s as important to him as my sword was to me.”

The dark in the room made it difficult for others to see the wet shine in Jongho’s eyes. “I know, my king. I know. But if we want to do something to help His Lordship, you must get better. Please value your life as much as you value him.”

Hongjoong hung his head low. A tragic sight, close to bringing Jongho to true tears. After many quiet moments passed, Jongho went to bring him the beef pastries and the soybean paste soup that he and Seonghwa had made earlier on that day. They had all gathered around Hongjoong, with Jongho also eating at a much quicker pace, and Seonghwa tending to Wooyoung’s wounds in the bed next to his. Angry at the way his hand trembled when holding the spoon, Hongjoong tossed it against the wall with a low growl. Hongjoong eyed them apologetically, then went back to quietly slurping his soup. His stomach convulsed like it was refusing food, but he kept going until the bowl was empty.

Hongjoong sighed triumphantly that his body had not forsaken him yet, and picked up the first pastry. “Who is that man you brought with you?” 

Jongho also set his bowl down, wiping his mouth with the heel of his palm. “He and his comrades tried to ambush me on my way here. I only took him because I thought he could be a useful source of information. His friends are dead now.”

Nodding, Hongjoong ripped a small piece, softly blowing the steam out. “Have you escaped the city? Has Sungjo been following you?”

“Well…” Jongho held his hands above the steam to warm his hands. “They captured me.” Hongjoong’s eyes snapped upwards. “And his Lordship allowed himself to be captured too.”

“To…where?”

“To Geumcheon, Your Highness.” 

“…You were taken to Geumcheon.”

“Yes. I did not see much, but it looks like any other village would. Other than the manor he lives in. His Lordship helped me escape. He said I should find out what I can about Lady Minyeong and report to you.”

“And…Have you found anything?”

“The people there said she was skilled in business and trade, and that she gave people many working opportunities.”

“But her offers were rejected sometimes.” Wooyoung added. “She would want to commission robes like the queen’s for herself, and kingly attire for her son. So, many people would refuse because they feared the law. Then she resorted to death threats. And it worked.”

“You know her?” Hongjoong asked. 

“…I’ve been to Geumcheon before. I also know that Sungjo’s birthday was celebrated like the king’s. There are enough members within the Black Dragon order to fill in many royal duties.”

Silence fell upon the room, with everyone analysing and pondering in their own way. Jongho studied Hongjoong’s face, whereas Hongjoong assumed his thinking pose. “Let me see your hip, Wooyoung.”

“I- I beg your pardon?”

“If there’s a branding iron mark on your hip, I’d like you to set your shame aside for a moment and show it to me. I will not repeat myself.”

Wooyoung acknowledged the order, but had not moved until Hongjoong looked at him. Startling, he rose to his feet and removed his robe. He untucked his shirt from underneath his trousers, then pulled them down enough to revealed a dark, charred semicircle on his hipbone. The other people in the room narrowed their eyes in pain. “Ah, I knew it.”

“I have nothing to do with them anymore, I swear. Please don’t kill me. Again.”

“…Was it one of them who killed you?”

Wooyoung nodded, wrapping the robe around him like it was a blanket.

Nodding back in understanding, Hongjoong turned his attention back to Jongho. “Is that all you have to report?”

“Just that…Lady Minyeong died recently. About two, three months ago. Mysteriously, they said. She was never seen walking out of her manor again.”

“…I see.” He sighed. The others expected his full response, but mostly out of fear. No one could predict what ludicrous idea would spring out of his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to Geumcheon.”

“Why is there even an implication that I would ever let you go alone?” Jongho stood up, his fists clenched. If Hongjoong hadn’t known him, he would have taken him for a bully.

“I was going to ask you to go back to the capital-”

“No.”

“ _No_? Twice in a day? How bold of you.”

“If I went to the capital, you would be defenceless…Also…I know I serve and I am loyal to His Highness…but I am more afraid of Mingi hyung…If he saw me alone…he would break both my feet.”

Although he hated himself for faltering, Hongjoong smiled at that, because he knew it was true. “Get dressed, then.”

“But it’s late in the day, You Highness. It will get dark in an hour.”

“…Then stay.” Hongjoong concluded, unsheathing Jongho’s sword, which he found propped against the wall. We went outside to finally greet the man Jongho had taken hostage. He was sleeping with his mouth wide open, drooling. Hongjoong kicked him in the sole of his boot, stepping back when he jolted awake, then once more when he saw the sword in Hongjoong’s hand. He attempted to crawl back, pressing his body further into the tree. “What do I call you?”

“You…You’re lord Sungjo’s brother!” Spit ran down the corners of his mouth as he spoke. His teeth were yellow, his eyelids purple. If that hadn’t disgusted Hongjoong enough, it was also the fact that the man had chosen to use informal language with him.

“That is not how you speak to His Royal Highness.” Hongjoong wanted to say, but Wooyoung said instead.

“You…You! Jung Wooyoung! You died! I saw you die! I saw you fall!”

“So you did…” Wooyoung uttered between clenched teeth, before pressing his boot against the man’s forehead.

“Is this how you treat your leaders, you ill-bred mutt?! If lord Sungjo hears about this-”

“What can he do to me now?” Wooyoung pushed the man’s head against the tree trunk, before finally leaning his foot down. “His time is over. As it should have been long ago.” Hongjoong looked at Wooyoung as he spoke, seeing the purple underneath his eyes gained a complete different meaning. In the back of his voice, he heard the cries of other people, very likely his family. At their feet, Wooyoung's shadow was the darkest. “I will see that he answers all of your questions, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong nodded. After a second of deciding, he passed Wooyoung the sword, along with the duty of execution.

“You will get nothing from me…My loyalty belongs to lord Sungjo!” He said, with his tears corroding his voice. 

“What has he taken from you?”

“…What,”

“Sungjo. Has he kidnapped your family? Burned your farm? What has he done to you? You do not look like a swordsman.”

“I owe you nothin’. I owe you no answers. You speak with such mercy, but you think I don’t hear the snake in your voice?! You ask as if you gave a damn about me! You care only for your interest! Lord Sungjo was the first heir to the throne, and the entire country knows of this! But they will not speak of it because they fear you! But I! I do not fear you! I know that is why you all want him dead! Because he knows the truth! The Black Dragon Order knows the truth!”

“I’ve heard enough. I don’t have time for this.” Hongjoong turned around and patted Wooyoung’s back before leaving. Behind him, he heard the hostage screaming and choking on his own spit.

“Do I have your permission to drown him?” Wooyoung asked. Yellow sparked in his eyes, but significantly dimmer than when he had been a spirit.

Hongjoong looked at the monastery behind him, then back at him. “He is yours. You needn’t my permission. But do not let the gods and spirits see you. If you wish to be reborn as a spirit one day, forget not that you must remain pure of heart…Think about this when you drown him.” Hongjoong told him before picking the sword up and washing the blood off with the snow.

“But Your Highness, I know that all we did in the past months was to kill our kind, but I believe one can kill thousands and remain pure of heart if he believes that what he did was righteous and with noble intent. But it is not easy to make yourself believe that…Think about this when you kill your brother.” Wooyoung bowed, then hooked the rope over his shoulders, dragging his former leader’s unconscious body after him.

Hongjoong knew that, but hearing someone else remind him of it brought worry in his chest. That worry had shown on his face when he saw Seonghwa looking his way like he wanted to say something. The sea spirit was perched up on the monastery’s first roof. “Uncooperative, was he?” Seonghwa jumped down gracefully, ice crystals and particles dancing around the hems of his robes.

“We've managed.” Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa expectant, but when he saw the spirit nodding conclusively, Hongjoong excused himself.

“Your Highness,” Seonghwa called moments after Hongjoong left his field of vision. “I cannot yet tell if that was your stubbornness speaking or not.”

Hongjoong stopped, lifted his chin up and proud, and turned around with his hand tightly wrapped around the sword. “What?”

“I know you wish to go, but I am asking you…Is it wise to go now?”

“If I may be honest with you, I care not if it’s wise. I know he’s powerful and that he can fend for himself, but that does not mean I have the luxury to sit here, pacing up and down with my arms crossed to my chest while waiting for it to be daylight again…He needs me. And I need him…Everything he does, every decision he makes, is part of a bigger plan…Do you understand? Everything he does is prospected. Nothing he says is accidental…Why…Why do you think I’m still here? Why do you think my heart keeps beating when the rest of my body was dead…He kept me alive because he knew that…everything we’ve been through, and everything that led up to this moment…It cannot be for nothing.” Switching his sword in his non-dominant hand, he laid his right palm over his chest. “So that’s why. Please. I ask of you. Lend me your strength one more time. Let me borrow your flames to guide me through the night.”

The bandages around Hongjoong’s palm were coming undone, wounds pigmented his face brighter than his skin did, his hair was undone and filthy, and the clothes he wore, unfit for his silhouette, made him appear like he was just a little more than a beggar. Seonghwa smiled. He allowed himself to be smitten of Hongjoong while looking at him. Then, he sighed, huffing out a quiet laugh, then took Hongjoong’s hand to redo his bandages. “Has anyone ever managed to change your mind?”

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“…Hardly. But there were times.”

“Is there a reason why you are so unyielding?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “No. I am only unyielding when the stakes are greater. And when I know my goals are. Now, nothing could make me yield.”

Seonghwa tied a little bow in the back of Hongjoong’s hand, then released him. “…I somehow knew our journey was not going to end there.”

Smiling, Hongjoong took a full bow, long strands of red draping over his shoulders. “Thank you.” 

*

“Your Highness.” Wooyoung said. He had changed in his normal attire, his hair was nearly tied and held back from his face with a dark headband. “May I accompany you? I believe I can be of use to you.”

“No.” Jongho said instead. Just about moments ago, the younger helped him with tidying his hair, although Wooyoung had not asked for assistance.

Hongjoong leaned a reassuring hand on Jongho’s shoulder, then gestured Wooyoung too approach them. “I thought that goes without saying. If you want to live a nobler life, best start now.” He smiled. “Do you know how to use a sword?”

“I do, but I am more skilled with the bow. It’s you I worry about, however. You’ve lost your sword.”

The corner of Hongjoong’s mouth arched upwards as he took Nari in his hand. “I have this.”

“Will that protect you?”

“I’m sure it will.”

Hongjoong held the horse’s saddle, readying himself to mount, but as he pushed himself up, he found his arm muscles struggling to sustain his weight. Clenching his teeth, he pushed and pushed until he fully managed. With his head pounding, he buried his face into his palms, taking deep breaths until his vision was done with playing illusory tricks on him.

“Your Highness,” Jongho said. Hongjoong knew that soft tone.

“Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t. I just worry.”

“Then don’t worry about me either. I can.”

For years, it had always been Mingi to Hongjoong’s right, and Jongho to his left. Sometimes it was the other way around. That day, when Jongho looked to his left, he saw a thinner and shorter figure. Mingi’s little finger alone was more muscular than Wooyoung’s arms. The way Jongho looked at him had not denoted anything, but by the way Wooyoung found his glare, he seemed to have read his thoughts. “I will not hurt him.” He said. They were three steps behind Hongjoong. Jongho nodded, turning his eyes to Hongjoong.

First they were headed to the forest, where Seonghwa went on ahead to search for a place where he could draw a seal onto the ground. A seal that functioned as a portal. Given that they only had one horse, they estimated that it would have taken them hours from there to Geumcheon. 

Hongjoong looked at his palm again. He wanted to count all the things and people he had lost. From there, he wanted to search for his reasons to keep going.

But then he realised that it would have taken him less time to count all the things he had left. He lifted a first finger, ready to begin counting, but his thoughts had locked themselves away from him.

“Do you think His Lordship Eunbaem is alright?” Jongho asked, looking at the little jade ornament hanging from the flute, gently swinging in the air.

“He better be. I will fight him if he’s not.” Hongjoong replied, putting his hand down. For the sake of his sanity, he gave up on enumerating.

When they entered the forest, Hongjoong held Nari with the end facing the front, when the jade decoration started levitating as if it had a mind of its own. Hongjoong went by intuition alone, thinking that only spiritual tools and symbols would recognise each other. The pendant around his neck also seemed to be restless within Hongjoong’s shirt. He held it in his fist to keep it from tickling.

The clearing Seonghwa had found was part of a demolished residence’s grounds. Only two walls were standing tall, a tree stump filled with axe cuts, and an old well not too far. Hongjoong placed Nari across his sash and jumped down from the horse, patting him softly. “Where will this take us?”

“Just outside of Geumcheon. There is a rock formation within a grove that forest spirits use as a portal to transport goods into the spirit world. Now, if you please, stay right where you are, and close your eyes. Do not open them until I tell you.”

Hongjoong wrapped the horse’s reins around his hand and draw him away from the circle. “You did well. Thank you.” Then returned to within the circle, shoulder to shoulder with Jongho, whom he could tell he was nervous, and closed his eyes. Seonghwa recited his incantation as the talismans he held flew from his palms like leaves chasing the wind. Hongjoong took hold of Jongho’s wrist, his thumb against his pulse. He heard Seonghwa stepping within the circle seal, with a sound as soft as that of temple bells lifting from the ground. In the back of his ear, a warm flute played— a song he did not recognise, but one he had never felt so close. The talismans shrilled through the mass of air that hemmed them in, when they felt themselves being stranded in the air. He felt the same way as he did when he first flew. When his senses alone had not been able to discern if there was something underneath his feet or not. The sensation was suffocating, but it had not lasted long. He held Jongho gently, not allowing him to feel his anxiety. In the moment that followed, they stood on a softer ground in a much quieter place. Hongjoong heard the sound of hands clapping, followed by Seonghwa’s sigh. “Smoother than I expected.”

Hongjoong opened his eyes to flat, dark coloured stones arranged in a semicircle, with old inscriptions covered in moss and wild vines. The sun was a ray away from leaving them to be one with the shadows. There was nowhere near as much snow there as it had been in the west.

“Your Highness,” Seonghwa said. In his hand he held a dagger scabbard attached to a dark leather belt, which he did not have before. “I may not have a sword, but please take this.”

Hongjoong raised his hand to take it, but a force beyond his control forbad him to. It was something that lied deep within him, chained and locked and sealed. Something that he would never allow himself to feel or even reckon, because if he did, he would lose. “I’m scared.” He whispered, but through that nocturnal silence it was like a scream. Like all the spirits and gods descending from the heavens at once to announce the end of the world. “Why am I scared?”

“I know you are, but remember that it is because of this fear that you are wasting time now.”

Hongjoong shook the intrusive thought away from his mind, and took the belt. He secured it around his waist, with the blade at a comfortable arm’s reach. “Thank you.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Do you have a plan in mind?”

The muscles of his throat shivered as they did when the cold of the cliff had bitten him by the airways. It took one more breath for him to regain himself, then he turned around towards Wooyoung. “Will they kill you if you went there alone?”

“If they want to, I will show them my mark. But I don’t know how many there are. So, if I may, I’d like to take Jongho with me.”

Hongjoong looked at Jongho, and the younger nodded. Then, Wooyoung unwrapped one of the cords at his waist and told Jongho “I will tie your hands at your back. Then I will tell them that I captured you. We don't want them to believe us, we only want them to gather so we could see how many there are. And when we can clear His Highness a path."

“If you try anything, I will kill you.”

Wooyoung brushed the threat away with a nod, proceeding to tie his wrists. “I would not want a child to kill me. I said I want a nobler death.”

“You-”

“Jongho.” Hongjoong scolded.

The younger clicked his teeth. “Loose?” Wooyoung asked.

With a quick movement, Jongho managed to untie himself. “Yes.” Only for Wooyoung to redo it before leaving.

Beyond roofs and one tall gate rose a bright, red firelight. Seonghwa’s purple wisps guided them out of the forest up until the last line of trees that concealed them in utmost darkness. “This is a small village…who in the right mind would build a manor here?” Hongjoong asked quietly.

“Someone who is afraid of how close the bigger cities are with the capital…and the palace.”

Hongjoong smiled at the tone Seonghwa spoke in. Like a young scholar too politically involved, never corrupted, who was also a scorpion among insects.

“Once you get in, close the gates behind you. Do not worry about me.”

“But what if…I stay here, and you draw the seal for when we return to the capital. I assume that will take some time.”

“Your guards will not be happy if I left you alone here.”

“…My guards will get over it. It is more important than you keeping me company.”

“Very well, then. Be careful. I will be quick.” Seonghwa said, bowing his head.

Hongjoong only heard the sound of him disappearing, and the cold water sprinkles that remained landing on the nape of his neck. He heard the echo of Wooyoung’s voice, and another one of a much older man, speaking much fiercely. He had never met a night that eerily quiet. He could see the line of tiles atop the walls that enclosed the manor, and a thin trail of smoke floating from inside. Outside the gates, among torches, were about ten men standing as pillars at equal distance from each other.

It was not until Wooyoung refused to give Jongho away that they moved to reach for their swords. The Black Dragon Order seemed to call Wooyoung by his first name only, and spoke softly so long as he obeyed.

“You dare show yourself to me wearing temple robes like you ever had any faith. And why carry yourself like a nobleman when you were born in mud?”

A foreboding silence fell over the commotion, during which Hongjoong steadied himself and held his breath. Even so, he jolted up at the agonising scream that erupted out of the guard’s throat. Then the other three, and later four that followed. Jongho’s lupine growl, one that indicated Hongjoong that someone had already kneeled at his feet, headless. As Hongjoong gathered his strengths to leap into his next hiding spot, he glimpsed at Wooyoung’s body losing his balance and falling through the ground, with a colder of a man towering over him. With a mind of his own, Hongjoong unsheathed his dagger and charged towards the man, jumping his back and thrusting it into his throat. Pulling the blade out, blood splattered right into his mouth into a fine show of red fireworks. He spat it out, running towards Wooyoung to pull him up, but the younger grabbed his forearm and pointed to the unguarded entrance to the manor. Hongjoong released him, eyes opening wide and the entirety of his body filled with a drive so strong, that he dashed past the man lightning speed, picking up the first sword that he laid his eyes on.

He slammed the gates shut, pivoting on his heels with his sword fighting stance ready, but lowered his sword right away when the courtyard he found himself in was empty. Puddles of blood glinted in the torchlights, and over the courtyard ground laid a foliage of long strands of hair, golden like embers at their brightest. They shone in little light, turning fire into sun, and gravel into gold. In the centre of the courtyard, as unanimated as a statuette in a worshipping place, sat Sungjo in an execution chair, with the tip of his sword dug into the ground, and his forehead rested against the pommel. The loudest sound that surrounded him was that of the wind fanning the flames. “Who’s there?” Sungjo asked in an exhausted rasp, right at the moment when the tip of Hongjoong’s sword hit the ground.

Sungjo’s shoulders were wide, and his hands were large enough to comfortably hold two swords in each. When he lifted his head, his eyes widened, and a smile flared on his lips. “Well I certainly did not expect this.”

Hongjoong looked at him as if he was part of a dream he was having. He was there, present with mostly his eyes, but nobody could see him. He could do and say whatever, because he could wake up anytime and reflect.

He had never expected for the world to fall quiet and anxiously listen while they met and talked and confronted each other for the first time. Hongjoong was not even sure how he got there anymore, or if he was alone.

“You poor bone and flesh,” Sungjo went on, with an amused smirk on his lips. “You’re the one everyone has told me to fear so much.” Hongjoong had not yet moved. “Why are you standing there? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

With his first step outside the gateway, Hongjoong began experiencing mild vertigo, but not in the same form he had when he had woken up. His instincts told him it had been triggered by something else, such as when a wolf steps into another’s territory. In his head there was a storm of voices who all assumed Hongjoong went there with murdering intentions, and who thought he saw no other mean to bring peace into his reign.

What latched onto his heart, then, was not mercy. It was something he struggled with describing himself. A feeling in which he did not want to raise the sword, but he knew he had to. One where he wondered how many people had seen an end to their conflicts by only using verbal persuasion.

He felt his skin finally able to hold him in. And he was unfamiliar with that. He had never known what it was like to have every cell and muscle and nerve agree with him. His chest had always felt like a mountain of gunpowder with a flame pendulating dangerously close around it— his blood. He had always felt so thrilled at the idea of always being in danger of exploding, and what could explode along with him. How much fire he could carry in his hands alone.

Until then. Nothing in him wanted to explode anymore. His chest was only warm and out of danger of obliterating everything. He hated it.

“I do.” Hongjoong relaxed his hands to his sides. Blood and numbness gathered in the tip of his fingers. “I’m tired.” He sighed. A bright strand of hair was at his feet. “That’s what I have to say to you. That I’m tired. So tired. I’ve never felt this tired.” The sword was close to falling out of his hand, while his eyes were staring into space, at Sungjo’s sword. From that far away, he was able to see the dullness and scratches on its silver surface.

Sungjo leaned back on his chair, visibly dissatisfied with Hongjoong’s answer. When they met eyes, Hongjoong saw that there was nothing within Sungjo that wanted to explode either. “I am too. As you can see, this palace had been very noisy lately.”

“…You killed them?”

“Your friend did. Not the nicest of individuals.”

The reflection of a shooting star crossed Hongjoong’s eyes at the mention of Yeosang. The quick rise of his eyebrows gave it away. A slight reaction which had not escaped Sungjo. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Hongjoong furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t know…”

“But you should already know how I regard people who disobey me, little brother. He is not important.”

“He is to me.”

Smiling, Sungjo rose from his seat, plucking his sword from the ground. “I know.” Scraping the side of the blade against the ground, he trudged towards Hongjoong. “But why make this about him now? You came here for me.”

“I am not leaving without him.”

“But who said anything about you leaving?”

Hongjoong strengthened his grip around the sword, maintaining his guard low, but steady. “I did.”

“See, that’s what I like to see. This is the little brother I had missed so much.” Hongjoong stepped away from the wall, preventing Sungjo from caging him in as he approached. “Tell me. Tell me how much you want him back.”

But when Hongjoong saw him with no intention to stop, he lifted his sword, pointing it to Sungjo’s chin. “Stay where you are.”

“Why are you raising your sword at me? I didn’t raise mine. And you don’t want me to. Because if I do, your head would fly off your shoulders. So be careful.” Sungjo grabbed the blade in between his fore and middle finger, attempting to move it away from him, but Hongjoong’s grasp was steel. “But then again, I know you have to kill me in order to complete the cycle. You have no family left, so there is only me to kill so you can finally call yourself a member of the royal family, is that right?— Do you ever think about this? How we were all cursed to have altercations with members of our family, which all, coincidentally, settled in parricide?…I see you thinking ‘I don’t want to do this. This is not me. I want to prove everyone that I am different’…Am I right, Hyeokjoon-ah?”

“No. I did not come here with that intention. I told you. I’m tired of everything. I thought there was a better way to settle this, as I have learned in the past weeks. But the more I look at you, the more you leave me no damned choice.”

“If you cannot decide, I have another suggestion.” Sungjo said, turning around and leaving Hongjoong, going to pick up the torch stand that had tipped over. He held it at eye level, head inclined as if he was curious about what the torch had shown him. “If I am to burn here. Then you would burn with me. I feel so fulfilled now. I would not mind dying alongside you.” He lowered the torch, leaning it against the pillar at the door, holding it there until the flames bit the wood and spread their red venom.

“You fulfilled nothing.”

“How could I not? The king and queen’s deaths were in my mother’s name! And Her Royal Highness’ death is inscribed in my hands, and my name is buried with her!”

“Maybe,” Hongjoong breathed out. A slight tremor in his chest. Small, like the first bounce of a leaf when the last raindrop slides down. “But not me. You may have taken them away from me, but as long as I draw breath, this dynasty is still standing proud. All to no avail if you do not take the king down.” A part of him felt at peace. Safe, in a way that he knew all of his wishes had been granted, and he was finally as powerful as everyone believed. “And that is why I have to take Eunbaem back. Because we have a son to go back to.” His brightest and darkest, his fire and his ice merged together for the first time. The king in him, and the free-spirit. Into a greater being who would not waver.

“You don’t have a son.”

“I do. The prince is in a place you could never find.”

“You don’t have a son! The queen fell! I’ve seen her fall! There would have been nobody else with noble blood to bear you a child!” Sungjo grasped Hongjoong by his collar, slamming him against the wall. “Who was it?!” Their foreheads were pressed together, their hands clawed at each other’s being. “Who was it, or I swear on my mother that I will kill every infant that crosses my path, and when they reach the gods, they will all blame you.”

Hongjoong puffed out a quiet laugh, his nails piercing Sungjo’s wrists. He felt like he was swinging like wind chime bells over the schism between life and death. While Sungjo pressed him into the wall like forcing him into a coffin, Hongjoong thought he died and returned time and time again. “What kind of fool do you take me for, brother? There’s only one person in this world who’s sharper and far astuter than I, and that is not you.” But unfortunately for Sungjo, Hongjoong summoned his last sliver of willpower to think himself omnipotent. And to him, that was an absolute truth. “You’re the one who taught me not to trust anyone. And because of that, whomever you sent to spy on me has returned to you empty handed.”

Sungjo growled. Through the reflection in his eyes, Hongjoong could predict his actions and thoughts. He had reached a level of madness that Hongjoong never knew how familiar he was with. It was that that made Sungjo transparent. Before he had even thought of raising his sword, Hongjoong drew his dagger, and with a wave of adrenaline, he swung it across Sungjo’s face. He dropped to the ground, and shaking himself back to sanity. Beside him, Sungjo wailed in agony, his hands cupped over the lower half of his face. He leapt over to take hold of the sword that had dropped out of Sungjo’s hand, used it as support to pull himself up to his feet, although he struggled, and while Sungjo thrashed and tossed like a fish on land, in the back of his eyes lied the illusion of Hongjoong towering above him. He struggled to rise to his feet, grinning, his teeth stained yellow with blood. The scar on his cheek was as big as his mouth, moving as if it was real. He charged towards Hongjoong, wrapping his arms around his waist, as they both collided with the ground. Hongjoong snapped his eyes open in despair for breath, while he saw Sungjo’s palm drawing closer to his throat. Having seen that scenario before, he quickly gathered frost and soil into his hand and threw it into Sungjo’s face. With only one moment of release, Hongjoong threw Sungjo off him, digging his head into the ground every time his fist met his face. With every punch, Hongjoong screamed as if he was the one feeling the pain. And he continued so, breaking Sungjo’s every facial bone until his brain begged him to stop. He went on until the skin of his knuckles scraped against Sungjo’s flesh. And it burned him. And one more, until Sungjo’s body jumped when the salt of Hongjoong’s tears seared into his flesh. Underneath Sungjo's collar, he noticed something green and mildewy growing on his skin.

It was not the thought of him losing to Sungjo and dying that terrified him. It was not his fear of Sungjo’s skill and size and wit. In fact, what frightened Hongjoong the most had nothing to do with Sungjo’s mind games. What he feared was the red of his hair, the earthy colour of his eyes and the shape of them, his manner of speech, the shape of his face and nose. He had caught a glimpse of Sungjo’s reflection in the sword he held. It had lasted for less than a second, but enough to awaken a side of Hongjoong that he had always denied he had.

Sungjo’s eyes were rolled to the back of his head, his head more blood than flesh, and his tongue poking out through the hole in his cheek. Hongjoong panted, stray tears running down his cheek. He crawled backwards on his hands, his lungs denying him breath.

He picked up his dagger and turned around, facing the manor, staggering back at the size of the flames that had enveloped the house’s right wing. Hongjoong pushed through, and ran. “Yeosang,” He said in a near sob, nearly stumbling at the manor’s doorway. His knees felt like rubber, but he forged them into iron as he ran. The flames shedded enough light for him to discern what he had around him. He searched every room, cut the screen of every locked door, only to find that they all bore the same intense stench of blood. “Yeosang!” The manor was empty of human life. Hongjoong thought so when he remembered Sungjo calling it his palace. Bedrooms, meeting rooms, and all the study rooms and the library, all deserted, cluttered.

His mind had stopped dictating him what to do. The part of his brain that was responsible with decisions was long asleep. Instead, Hongjoong’s mind had tricked him into believing that he was inside of a maze that was Sungjo’s head. Many locked doors, behind which chaos lied, and fire spreading from one lobe to another quicker than Hongjoong could solve it. He thought he heard someone calling him, but he ran towards where the moonlight fell. _Your Highness_ , the voice shouted. Then that voice became two. It could have been anyone, and it could have come from anywhere.

_HYEOKJOON-AH_

_DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID_

_THEY SAID YOU ARE THE RED VIPER_

_THAT YOU ARE THE FIRECROWNED_

_THAT THE FIRE DOESN’T BURN YOU_

This new voice was a lot louder, hoarser, and angry at him for reasons Hongjoong could not understand. It sounded like it came from beneath the floor. It sounded real and drawing closer.

It sounded tactile.

And joined by the sound of metal scraping against a hard surface.

“Yeosang!” He shouted, cancelling all other noises. “I’m-” Hongjoong forcefully slammed open a red door, finding himself into a small room filled with sacred objects and faintly smelling like incense. “Here.” The voice called his name again, so he turned around and locked the doors back, his hand on his dagger’s hilt. That room was much warmer than the others, where the cold wind streaming in through the windows would only spread the flames.

On the floor lied the cadaver of a woman wearing royal attire, and jewellery on her every piece of skin. By the cotton and pearls that had dropped out of her mouth, Hongjoong deduced that she had been about to undergo preparations for a royal funeral, but was left abandoned in the ancestral hall.

Behind the woman, lying over the altar, was someone else entirely wrapped in white sheets, also denied a funeral. Hongjoong looked away, and towards the window closest to him, thinking about jumping out and into the next building, when he heard the roar of a construction collapsing not too far from the hall. 

When the entire room shook with the strength of the blow, out of the unknown body’s hand fell a red jade ring. The jewel rolled on the floor until it hit the tip of Hongjoong boot. Had it not been for the colour that caught his eye, he would have stepped on it. Ache arrowed right through his chest like snow in the heart of summer, and it was from that moment onwards when he would not hear a thing. His eyes and ears were drowning once again, but slower. He picked the ring up, unable to hold it properly due to how violently his palms were spasming.

Through the small screen in the door, Hongjoong saw a sunset coloured light. He had not looked at it, for his brain could not perceive it. All he could see, then, was the body wrapped in white. The parts where the fabric was bloodstained. The dark, charred hands, the denailed fingers, and the smoke still rising from his wrists. His mouth would not dare to utter any words. _Why_ , he thought. _Why would you-_

His hand itched to touch the body, or to uncover it, even, as there was still a part of his mind that refused to believe what he saw. With his hand on his liver, he tried to understand. He had felt no pain, no numbness. There had been no foreboding signs, no omens whatsoever. He had not considered the possibility of his mind failing him.

Until his mind failed to associate a face with a memory.

He fell to his knees and he cried in the pity of his solitude. His right cheek was warmer than his other, and from underneath the door, a black, threatening smoke seeped into the room through the gap under the door. The warm light from the screen had become as blinding as the sun, and everything that came its way crackled and was devoured to ashes. Hongjoong’s eyes were wide open, staring at the hand that looked nothing like the one he remembered. He shook his head, trying to remind himself that he was in Sungjo’s maze, his mind, and in his mind, everything was dark and twisted. Sungjo’s mind was filled with things Hongjoong had never deserved.

“Have I taken the king down now?” A voice said from behind him. 

The fire danced in a summoning ritual around the mountain of gunpowder that flooded Hongjoong’s chest. His blood spiralled in his veins, and his heart beat like an execution drum. The flames from the other side of the door spread courageously, but Hongjoong looked at them as if he tried to tell them that there have been times when dogs have bitten tigers.

Hongjoong sighed, then the corners of his lips twitched upwards. “You,” He huffed out a breathy laugh. “You took him from me.” His palms against the floor supported him, although they did not have to. They were not weak for they had enough. They were weak with laughter. “You took him from me!” The echo of his laugh quaked the flames away from the room, as the walls began to feel like ice. He leaned forward, laughing like a madman, though his eyes cried their sight away. He laughed with tears when a hand carded through his hair and pulled his head back. He saw a mouth moving, telling him something. That person was smiling with him.

“You took away my birthrights!” Sungjo screamed, slamming Hongjoong’s forehead against the edge of the altar, shaking the white shrouded body atop of it. “You took away my people! The only people who believed in me! It’s because of you that I killed father! And my mother!” And again, with more force, groaning in despair when he saw Hongjoong would not bleed. “It’s your fault! You treated me like a villain when you are blood from my blood! When I am the only family you have left! YOU’RE AT FAULT!” He jerked Hongjoong’s body around, his hand through his hair to pull them out of their roots. Sungjo’s eyes widened, seeing the thin trickle of blood snaking down the side of Hongjoong’s nose and down the corner of his mouth. His eyes were red, filled with tears, and hooded. But he held something silvery in both his hands. Something that Sungjo had not noticed until he saw red coating Hongjoong’s hands. Sungjo slowly her his hair go, placing a gentle hand over the dagger that had thrusted halfway through his stomach. “You did it,” Sungjo whispered, gagging on the first flux of blood that came up his mouth. “I guess we will burn together after all.”

Hongjoong smiled back, twisting the blade, and swiping it across Sungjo’s abdomen. As blood spewed out of his mouth, through the creases of Hongjoong’s hands, their eyes locked. Hongjoong smiled even wider, pleasure teeming in his tight throat as he watched life drain away from Sungjo’s eyes. “Sorry,” He panted. “It runs in the family.”

But when Sungjo raised his sword in a last attempt, his body was tossed aside in a sudden movement. The dagger was still in Hongjoong’s hands, soaked in blood. The image before his eyes was everything from blurry to distorted to something of a double vision. But he could see the sparkle of an arrowhead.

“Your Highness!” A bright, but desperate voice said.

Hongjoong dropped the dagger, slowly turning his hands around, staring at the dark, orangey hue the flames drew on them. He wiped them against his trousers before falling forward on his knees again. A pair of gentle hands wrapped around his arm to help him stand, but he violently jerked it away. “Your Highness, please.” It almost sounded like the voice was crying.

Hongjoong pocketed the red jade ring, leaning his entire weight over the altar table.

“Your Highness, we need to leave-”

“Be quiet!”

He wiped his ears against his bloody sleeve, and with a deep breath of air, he reached his hand to touch Yeosang. He caressed his head through the sheets, wiping more blood off as he did. “I can,” He said to himself. He placed his other arm behind Yeosang’s knees, praying to none but Eunbaem and San together to give him the strength to be able to carry him. “I can and I will.”

A wind, cold and wet like a sea breeze glided within the ancestral hall, then suddenly in a squall of arrows, right through the flames, subduing them to ashes. Hongjoong could only hear their last hiss before the room became cold again. For the first time, he found Jongho’s eyes, although his vision was blurry, and another someone next to him, holding a bow. Next appeared a third person, with a much stronger presence, dark clothed and tall. “Let me hold him, Your Highness.”

“No!”

“You cannot hold him for long-”

“I can! I said I can, and I will! I’m not- I’m not giving him to you!” Hongjoong sobbed, pressing his face into Yeosang’s chest. He did not remember ever holding Yeosang like that. Perhaps he did, but his mind refused to glamour him good memories.

“Forgive me,” Was the last thing he heard before he felt a light tap on his back, and it all went black before his eyes.

Jongho quickly caught Yeosang in his arms as Seonghwa cushioned Hongjoong’s fall. “W-Why,” Jongho asked. Angry, defeated. Terrified. “What did you do…”

“I put him to sleep. He would have hurt himself.”

Jongho nodded as if he had any other choice. He blinked his tears away, then looked down at the shrouded body he was holding. “…His…His Lordship?”

Lowering his head, Seonghwa adjusted Hongjoong’s position so he can carry him comfortably, and left his question unanswered. As he turned around, Jongho saw his eyes filled with tears. Jongho sought comfort and answers in Wooyoung’s eyes. Shock performed vivid plays on every bit of his face. The tremor of his lip and temples and eyes.

_You are the better half of my soul and heart_ , Hongjoong had once called Yeosang. That was a short memory that Jongho had come to cherish a lot. They were sat at a table, sharing meals and fighting over meat. Hongjoong’s face being clean and pure, his cheeks flushed in a way they did when his eyes and Yeosang’s met. They were in the heart of war while they fell in love like they owned the world. Jongho remembered wondering what it must have been like to be so powerful, and to have so much faith in someone else.

Behind him, Wooyoung remembered the day when the Geummae in him swore war between him and Eunbaem. He dreaded that day. He was in a small and empty place, begging himself to stop and to worship Eunbaem like he should have. But then again, he recalled the way he left the field. _I will die the same death a thousand times if it means you never seeing the sun again,_ Eunbaem had threatened him, generating an inhumane amount of horror in Geummae’s chest. He had secluded himself for the rest of that night. He felt angry with fear. All he could see behind his eyelids was the hailstorm in Eunbaem’s eyes while shielding the king. 

*  


Hongjoong imagined himself still being at the monastery, covered in anything that could provide a layer of warmth. He did not know, nor did he care, how he returned there, or why his mind tricked him into believing he was there. He fell in an out of sleep, his dreams overlapping and twisting in things he had surely lived before. In every dream there was blood on his hands, but nor him or anybody around him was hurt. When he would shift, he’d sense his head laid on something warm and feather-filled, and his covers were also soft.

He slowly cracked his eyes open to a moderately lit room, facing a wall from which hung a painting of bamboo near a pond, and a stand of calligraphy brushes. Shifting his eyes to the floor, he saw a wooden tray with a smoking pipe. Turning around to face the ceiling, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, while patting around the floor with his other hand. “Yeosang?” His eyes burst open, his mind raced with memories and his pulse jumped, turning his head left and right to find himself alone. His head was wrapped in bandages and so were his hands.

Jumping to his feet, he ran out of the study room, not waiting for his senses and neurological functions to catch up with him. He sled the door open, startling the tall figure that stood steps away from it. “You’re awake.” Mingi said, smiling. In his hands he held a small basin, and a towel across his arm. “I was just about to clean you up-”

“Where is he?”

Mingi tilted his head in the direction he had come from. “I’ll show you.”

As he walked, barefoot, Hongjoong held his palm against the wall for balance. In the main room, which Hongjoong remembered as the one he waited for Yeosang while Yunho performed the ritual for him, was everyone else. Sitting at the same table, serving the same food, and just as silent and surprised. Hongjoong could not wait to be told anything more, and went towards the door where the ritual had taken place, and with a hand on his liver, he descended the stairs. His eyes shook in his sockets, wanting to advance, yet being terrified to.

The cave was just as bright and ethereal as he remembered it, the lake just as serene. The part of his mind that was yet stuck in the dreamscape saw Yeori sitting there, her fox ears twitching, her eyes big and curious. But she was not there.

What was there, however, was the bed, exactly where he remembered it. There, lied Yeosang, wrapped in a much purer white. Next to the bed was Nari, along with a pile of fabric bands, and a knife. Hongjoong kneeled by his side, holding his hand through the fabric. “You scared me,” He sighed. “You scared the living hell out of me.” Although he wept, he smiled, holding Yeosang’s hand tighter. “I was so scared, I thought I lost you.” He dropped his forehead on Yeosang’s shoulder, never having let go of his hand, with only the sound of his sniffling and soft sobs echoing through the cave. The sheets that wrapped Yeosang preternaturally smelled like him. Not as gentle and not as sweet, but it was there, present enough to hold Hongjoong’s smile at its earnest. He might have fallen back asleep there, Hongjoong didn’t know not much time had passed. He savoured his moments of peace instead of counting them. He was still not sure how many things he had left, and how many he had lost. But one thing he had come to realise was that if there was him, there was also Yeosang. And if there wasn’t any Yeosang, there would be no him.

“Your Highness,”

Hongjoong lifted his head slowly. Seonghwa approached him slowly.

The sea spirit had forgotten what Hongjoong’s eyes looked like without the tiredness and the red. He knew he liked the way Yeosang looked into them, and how happy it made him. 

“I know what you did,” Hongjoong hissed, grabbing the knife tightly, pointing it towards Seonghwa while shielding Yeosang’s body with his other arm. The blade rippled in his hand, and his eyes twitched with the strength he amassed to make his hold appear stable. “You will not put me to sleep again.” Seonghwa saw how his wrist trembled. How much it hurt for him and his wounded limbs to exert so much force. He thought about how little it would take for him to steal the knife from the king. How effortlessly it would take for a sea breeze to sweep him off his feet. Hongjoong was the personification of a mortal struggling to live.

“I don’t want to put you to sleep. I want to talk to you.”

“No! I won’t talk to you! You want to take him from me! I don’t trust you! I don’t trust anyone!”

Having known that already, Seonghwa took his chances and approached him cautiously. Although Hongjoong had always done an exquisite job at appearing threatening, Seonghwa doubted he would ever inflict pain upon someone who had not done anything. “I don’t want to take him from you. But you have to know that he will not recover if you keep him here.” He saw a new sparkle of hope fading in Hongjoong’s eyes.

“You can’t take him,” Hongjoong whimpered. His voice was the memory of devastations. The regret of not having said ‘I love you’ back when he had the chance. “You can’t,” He stared into space, somewhere lower than Seonghwa’s eyes, shaking his head. “You can’t take him,” Both his arms bent and lowered in defeat, his legs gathered closer to his body. When he blinked, it was like the clouds had split, and he cried. The dagger fell on the floor with a sharp, echoing shrill. “If you take him, I won’t see him again.” His shoulders jolted up with his first sob, holding one hand over his mouth to hold himself from screaming, while his other arm was wrapped around himself. He leaned forward until his forehead hit against Seonghwa’s chest, and the spirit raised his chin to the ceiling, blinking his tears away. He held Hongjoong as empathically as one could show through an embrace.

“You don’t understand. He’s not dead. He’s not dead, you don’t have to take him away. He didn’t die.”

He had taken care of ailing or mourning humans and spirits before, but in front of Hongjoong no amount of experience seemed to suffice. He had seen the condition of Yeosang’s skin. He knew what that meant. What he did not know, however, was how to tell Hongjoong that he was wrong. So he only tilted his head in question, hoping Hongjoong would continue speaking and exhaust himself.

“There’s…a part of him in me…When we’ve met, we formed a bond, and he placed a part of him in me…and- and he can’t die if he’s not complete. I know this. I know this for sure. He hinted it so many times. He’s not dead, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa leaned back a little, taking in the new piece of information. He felt Yunho’s presence behind him, but he could not take his eyes away from the king. “…A bond?”

“That’s what he called it. He said we should form a bond if I want him to lend me his powers.”

“Do you mean…that?” He asked, pointing towards Hongjoong’s abdomen. “I saw that mark there when I saved you. Is that what it is? Like a blue flower?”

Hongjoong nodded.

Unsure how to proceed, Seonghwa turned around to look at Yunho, who appeared to have just as many questions. “Can spirits do that?” He asked Seonghwa. “I was not aware.”

“No…I’ve never heard of a ‘bond’ between spirits and humans. If a spirit wants to help a human in however way, there is no need for a ‘bond’. Spirits can do so willingly so long as they do not infringe the laws.”

“But how have you received that mark? What has he asked you to do?”

“To, ugh, stab my liver so he can place that…thing in there.”

“‘ _In a part of them that regenerates_ ’…” Seonghwa quoted. “I see. But why?”

“ _To protect you both_.” A new voice said, one that appeared to come from above, in soft echoes.

Hongjoong looked up, searching for the voice. In the centre of the lake, a bright creature stood. Glowing, white robes, with snowy hair falling down beyond his ankles, trailing long after him. His pale feet were barefoot, and his ankles were decorated with silver bells. To his left and right were the shadows of two mountain tigers. There was something about his physique and features that appeared to be artfully made, like he was carved in white jade and brought to life by wish alone. Even Hongjoong, in the cataclysmic state he was in, was stunned by his beauty for a good moment. “San?” He remembered the glow of his presence from his dream, but then, he had more time to admire him.

He nodded, slightly lifting his robes above his ankles so he would not wet them, although he walked above the water. Every step he took was a note of a song. His eyes and eyelashes also appeared to be white as snow, his irises were shining like moons. He approached them at an affable distance, smiling sincerely. “ _He did it to protect you._ ”

Hongjoong let go of Yeosang’s hand, unable to rip his eyes away from San. He did so slowly, as if the news he had received had been terrible ones. “Protect us from what…?”

A short, silent moment passed, where San allowed Hongjoong to think. “ _That night you formed the said bond, I had received a prophecy. There was you. In the snow. Bleeding. A sword through your chest. And Yeosang unleashing a rage so calamitous that would have brought avalanches and storms for many months to come. He knew you would die. And there have been many occasions in which you were fated to die. Many more than I can count. Many more than prophecies I have received…That is just about the same amount of times my little brother had changed the future for you.”_

“But when? Or— What have I done?”

“ _You fought in the rebellion yourself, first and foremost. When Yeosang— or Yeori, had tried to stop you. From there onwards your futures had become a gamble._ ” San sighed, looking over Hongjoong’s shoulder, at his little brother. “ _That thing he placed within you is a fragment of his immortality. You were right when you said that if he is not complete, his soul cannot die. He was never meant to die, yet he had prepared himself for it. He prepared himself to become the consequence of poor decisions. It is him, unfortunately, who had to pay for all of that.”_

_“_ But— He was there, he told me that he will stay with me. He told he it’s alright. He told me it’s safe for him to do so. He told me it’s safe for him to share all of that with me.”

“ _No. I should not be the one to tell you this, but that is not the truth. Prophecies had never been his to disclose. They must never reach mortals’ ears. He knew that, yet he deliberately took that risk._ _That which you see there, both mortals and spirits present, is the outcome of infringing the spiritual laws, and failing to acknowledge the repercussions of one’s decision._ ”

Hongjoong held his breath, because if he hadn’t, he would have let his anger speak for him. But that, however, lasted until he breathed out. “How dare you…”

Seonghwa and Yunho were bowed at San’s feet, but both jolted at the tone of the king’s voice. “Your Highness-” Yunho jumped to stop him.

“ _Let him be_.” San defended him. “ _It’s alright. Let him release his anger_.”

“Is that all you have to say about him?! After you’ve been with him through it all?! After you’ve seen how much he fought to make things right and how much he struggled to please you?! You say he has done all that to protect me as if that touched your heart— But all you have to say is that he deserved it?! He deserved it because he was good to me?! HOW DARE YOU?!” The echo of his roar cracked the crystal ceiling, and the hand that San held up had winced. “His entire life he did nothing but to redeem himself, and often for things he did not have to! He wanted to give Wooyoung another chance! He was kind and he forgave him, even after he hurt him! He…He stood by my side even when I did not listen to him! Even when he knew he would be the one to suffer because of me! It’s not fair! It’s not him who has to pay for others’ mistakes! It’s not him who has to pay for anything! Not when all he did was to be selfless! You claim spirits and good, but just how evil is this of you?!” He braced his fists, crushing his pulse into his palm.“He doesn’t deserve to be alone. I don’t want him to be alone. I’d rather…I’d rather he didn’t love me! Than him having to live a life with no one to tend to his wounds! When he shielded us with his whole being! It’s not fair, San!— I know I’m only human, and I know I’m powerless in front of you,” He exhaled, powerless, when he felt another sob making its way up. “But I love Yeosang more than you do. Take my breath from my lungs, and throw me off your mountain, and I will not take it back. I love him more than you could have ever loved him. And that is an absolute truth.” With his eyes ablaze, he held San with them alone as if he held him by his throat. But not too tightly, for he thought of Yeosang. “I woke up wanting to give him my life in any way I could. I prayed for him and _to_ him— and to _you_ , as well, throughout the entire time I have been separated from him. Not once did I think about the throne. Not once did I think about the capital. Because I knew,” A sob breached its way out of his throat, and his chin was high, although it hurt, as if someone held it for him. “I knew that if I lost him, I would lose myself as well…He is the _best_ half of my soul and heart…I love him more than any human has ever been allowed to love, and I cherish his life more than I cherish mine. I promised him so many ‘I love you too’, and the thought of never having the chance to say that to him tears me apart…Only for you to say that he deserves it. That he deserved to burn and be beaten to death.” He roughly wiped his tears. Not because he needed his eyes to see, but because he wanted San to know that in front of him, he was transparent. “And you have the audacity to call yourself his brother…The nerve you have to call yourself his family! Where were you when he needed you, San?!”

Hongjoong knew little, but San had not condemned him for it. He had nothing but love in his heart for every living being, but when it came to Yeosang, he had always felt like he had to grow another him to store his love in. Taking Yeosang in and raising him as his little brother had felt like an epiphany. The fierceness with which Hongjoong defended Yeosang, paying no regards to insulting a higher being, reminded San of himself. Of the times when he was stripped naked and flogged and whipped after begging the gods to never let Yeosang experience such pain. San loved him on such a prodigious level, that everyone had misunderstood him. Yeosang being the first. “ _When you parted ways, he said ‘Please, let it be me’_.” He told Hongjoong in a form of defence. In his mind, it seemed the right decision, for he had not thought of it twice. That is what Yeosang had asked of him, and he complied.

“Punish me instead, then! Not him! I spoke down to you. I challenged you. I addressed you informally. I gave you so many reasons.”

When San had first seen Hongjoong in his visions, he had sparked his interest right away. All the more after he had become everything Yeosang would think about. When San would try to reach him through his thoughts, he would always find Hongjoong there. In the shape of a worry, a prayer, or a wish. “ _I will not punish you_.” Yeosang looked at Hongjoong in a way that he had never looked at San. Before there was love in his eyes, there was warmth. “ _Instead I will ask you forgave me_.”

It was thanks to Hongjoong that San understood that the kind of love he had for Yeosang was not the kind of love he wanted, but the kind he needed. He loved him in a way that he deserved.

“Would you really ask a mortal for forgiveness?”

“ _I am not above that. I was not forged to perfection. Which is why I have another suggestion for you_.” San lowered his head and closed his eyes, like Yeosang had done when he had to say a quick prayer. He mostly did that when he was about to regret his decision. “ _If you remember, you asked if a human and a spirit can share a punishment_.” Hongjoong frowned, his tongue burning in his mouth, but he only nodded. “ _I will not ask you to do that, but I will ask you to share his burden instead. I will take his punishment.”_

“But why must you be punished?”

“ _Because he used his spiritual powers to inflict pain on humans. Because the storm he had caused in the eastern sea has lead to the damage of several residences, and has destroyed a seal system that forests spirits have built to protect the flora. And because I am his family, I am allowed to carry the punishment for him. Do not look at me like that, Hongjoong-ah, I am not the one who made those rules. I am also a follower in a realm of gods. Order is at the root of our ethics._ ”

Hongjoong’s eyes faltered to the ground. His chest was a vast land devoid of life and nature, where the only sound was that of a storm that had just passed. “I’ll take it. I’ll take anything for him. If I could take everything that I have until now, I can still do it. Let his pain be mine, and I will worship him like a god.”

San smiled lovingly, then took one small step towards Hongjoong, lifting his hand to his forehead. _“Even though you might have to wait years?”_ He lightly tapped it, then the bandage that had been wrapped around his head came undone, and when it fell, it revealed bright and woundless skin. Hongjoong felt nothing while it healed.

“I would wait for him even through death. No heaven would stop me.”

“Then, I shall take him to the spirit realm so that he may recover.”

San went besides Yeosang’s bed, but before picking him up in his arms, he saw Nari by his bed. He picked it up, walking his finger over the carved lotus, then held the flute out to Hongjoong. The king reached his hand to take it, but San drew it back. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you forgive me?”

Hongjoong cracked a smile. “It is not me you need to ask forgiveness from. Before you and I become family by alliance, you must ask forgiveness to the ones who are your family at present. Please ask his forgiveness before you ask mine. If Yeosang forgives you, then I will too…In my case, however, I’d like to offer you my apologies for the way I spoke to you. It will never happen again.” He said as softly as if Yeosang was there to listen to him. He took Nari into his hand, his eyes on the jade’s gentle luster. “Are you sure?”

“The flute will let you know when he will awaken. It will want to return to its owner.”

Hongjoong nodded, holding Nari to his chest. Then San raised his hands to the level of his chest, palms facing upwards, where snowflakes and feather puffs amassed out of thin air, which took the shape of an object. In his hands appeared a small box adorned with silver and blue flowers, encrusted with white and cold-coloured gemstones. “In the spirit realm we use this when we go into solitude and we want to remember someone we love.”

The gemstones glowed as if they all saw a different sun, and the flowers appeared as soft as real ones would. He timidly took the box, opening it while he thought about what to place in it. He thought of a letter or fifty, he thought of the ring he had lost. He kneeled on the floor, with the box opened before him. His heart thrummed intensely, but not quickly. In the same manner it did when he and Yeosang had flown together and kissed while free falling. He closed his eyes, took a deep and decisive breath, and opened them back. Then he wrapped his hair around his hand, tugging lightly, and in his other hand, he grabbed the knife. With the image of Yeosang braiding his hair, massaging his scalp while washing it, twirling thin, red locks around his finger, and kissing them, Hongjoong swiped the knife across his hair, sawing it all off at once. He walked his finger over the long pieces of hair, brushing against the floor although he held them quite high. They felt heavy in his hand, but the rest of him felt lighter. The nape of his neck had taken its first breath in what may have probably been a decade. He braided the locks to keep them from going astray, wrapped them up, then placed his hair inside the box. San looked at him like he had tried to stop him several times.

Hongjoong returned it to him, which San accepted it gratefully. “You’re quite a noble soul, aren’t you?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “It’s how family should be treated.” Smiling, he drew out the syllables of the word ‘family’ like they were the first verse of a prayer. Sacred by existence.

He understood why San had to take Yeosang away, but to a certain extent, he wished he hadn’t. In that moment he wished he had been more foolish. Because having understood less meant him not having been hurt as much.

But then, he wished he was as strong as San. To be able to carry Yeosang like he did, and take him to a place where he could care for him. Hongjoong was envious of the honour he had.

But honour was something he thought he did not deserve at that time. Because of the fury in his core, he had not yet perceived what San had told him. If he was the one to blame for everything.

A white portal had opened like a blooming flower on the other shore of the lake. As San took his first step on the water, he looked at Hongjoong one more time, mouthing something like ‘don’t cry’. Hongjoong’s eyes had gotten too teary for him to see, but he could only assumed. He nodded, hugging Nari tighter. “Tell him he is my entire soul and heart. Tell him I love him. And- And tell him that I will name my son after him, and that I don’t care what he says.”

Through the blur in his eyes, he thought he saw San promising him with a smile. He leaned his lips against the body of the flute, holding his breath as he watched San cross through the portal. He felt a warm and big hand on his shoulder. By that alone Hongjoong knew it was Mingi preventing him from running after him. It was also him the first one who wrapped his arms around him when the portal closed. He buried his cheek into Mingi’s chest, allowing him to embrace him like he had never been allowed to. He rubbed his back gently, his heart tearing itself from inside out at how warm yet filled with tremors Hongjoong’s body was. “If you need to fall. You can fall. I will catch you.”

Hongjoong swallowed up another wave of tears, then dried his eyes with his sleeve. Mingi’s hands were still on his shoulders. “When have I ever wanted to fall?”

Mingi smiled. “Right.” 

*  


Hongjoong stood atop of the temple gate stairs, with only the snow to accompany him. The snowflakes were sparse and lighter than air, flying away miles against something as little as Hongjoong’s exhales. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and no matter how many times frost would pinch his skin, he would feel nothing. The gentle wind blew away the last remaining bits of his hair scattered at the nape of his neck. They were the size of the snowflakes themselves. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it free of stray strands. They floated away like ember sparks, and as they did, in the air they drew a face. It had all happened too quickly, but enough to draw a smile out of Hongjoong’s heart.

In his hand he held Nari, whom the snow seemed to love a lot. The wind danced around the mouthpiece, drawing out lost pieces of songs never performed before.

Near the temple was a red, wooden pavilion by a frozen pond. Hongjoong had noticed it when he returned from his walk. When he saw there was nobody about to call for him, he decided to go there, further away from other voices. He ran his finger through the snow piled up on the handrail, brushing it away, then looked at his palm as the droplets fell. 

He lifted Nari up to his mouth, adjusting his shoulders, and the position of his fingers. He did not feel as elegant as Yeosang did while he played, but his muscles were sore enough to tell him that he might have done at least one thing right. He had never played the flute before, and he knew it was a little too late for him to try to learn. But the song he played was not one he memorised. It was one he remembered by the manner and sequence Yeosang had moved and lifted his fingers on and off the holes. He played ten notes he had recalled to perfection, but stopped and smiled to himself, embarrassed when he realised that his lungs had not been trained for that.

Putting the flute down, he sighed. A gentle and warmer wind kissed the back of his neck, then glided down to the hand in which he held the flute. His eyelids fell closed, his eyelashes caressing his cheeks, his palms were opened, waiting for the wind to braid their fingers together, and hold him tightly. He inhaled deeply, until the wind would grow through the branches of his lungs and flow through his veins. Because Yeosang was not the wind to put Hongjoong’s fire out. Yeosang was the wind that spread it far and wide.

Hongjoong kissed the back of his hand. Then, looking at the cloudless sky, he smiled. "Welcome back.” 

*

“You know, Wooyoung-ah…You did well.” Hongjoong said as they were getting ready to leave. They and Mingi sat on the bench in front of Yunho’s private residence while waiting for Seonghwa to finish clearing the snow from the path. “Your reporting skills deserve more praise.”

“I did not know that.”

“They do. It is not easy to filter information. To keep sentences short and concise. To be aware of your time as you speak. But you did…You did well.” Hongjoong stared into space as he spoke, unsure of the verisimilitude in his words.

“…Thank you.”

“Have you decided what you wish to do now? Are you coming with us to the palace?” Mingi asked, giving Hongjoong his cloak to wear. 

“No. I don’t like the palace life. Too restricting.”

Mingi and Hongjoong shared a glance, giggling. “Can’t argue with you there.”

“I want to stay here and serve at the temple, but I just feel like…not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t feel safe as long as the Black Dragon Order is still at large. I know that many of them were psychologically tortured, kidnaped, and forced to ‘enrol’ into his army. I know that so many have followed him blindly. Those are the people I want to save. For now, I feel like I am the only one. Maybe I cannot give them their families back, but maybe I can help them find their freedom. But then again, who knows, they might still have a mother or a brother alive somewhere.”

Hongjoong hummed, impressed. He had no objections. Nor was he afraid of anything that could come his way. “If I were you,” Mingi said, a hue of thoughtfulness in his voice. “I would not want to do this alone.”

“I agree.” Hongjoong said, standing up, and wrapping the cloak around him. “You can still come with us. You will be given a sword and a bow. And have a proper identification plaque made for you. It should help with your travels.”

Wooyoung’s mouth hung open, too flustered to prepare a suitable reply. He only nodded, then lowered his head, feeling a hint of regret when Hongjoong left. “It’s just,” He attempted, clearing his throat discretely before continuing. “I don’t think I would be welcome at the palace. I am part of the order after all. Or, I was. But that mark is still on my body. I don’t think I would be able to bear the stigma.”

“I understand. You don’t have to. But I’m sure there is a way to heal that mark on your body. His Highness will have someone look into it. It is but a physical injury after all.”

“…His Highness was too good to me. That would be too much. I don’t deserve it. I have no ties to my heritage anymore, he shouldn’t treat me like we’re friends.”

“If you spend enough time in his presence, you will notice that he will only use social status as a device to establish dominance before someone who has crossed the line. Otherwise, he pays no regard to where you come from…Also, I think you should accept his offers. Forget not that he has forgiven you for what you did to His Lordship Eunbaem.”

“I know…I’m grateful.” Wooyoung mumbled, pulling his sleeve over his bruised knuckles.

Mingi stood up, ruffling the younger’s hair. He fixed his cloak over his shoulders and retied the ribbon of his hat. Wooyoung followed him three steps behind. He despised himself for not having said anything before Eunbaem was taken away. When he and Hongjoong were alone, he could not speak his name either. Not when his hands had once been so besmirched in snake blood. The decision he had made, he thought, was the first step in his redemption.

Before joining the others, Wooyoung went to visit his master one last time, to tell him everything else he had to say, and with wish him goodbye and well. Yunho’s protective instinct over the boy wanted to stop him, but he only nodded and promised him he would wait. “I trust you will do well. I’m so proud of you.” Then pulled him into a tight embrace.

As they walked through the pathless forest, no one said a single word. Sometimes two of them would engage in small talk not longer than four lines exchanged, then one would become aware of Hongjoong’s presence and lower their heads in respect. Hongjoong noticed, but did not have the energy to say anything to them. Jongho glimpsed at him every now and again, his eyes trying to draw Hongjoong’s attention. “Let him grieve.” Mingi said. It was not that the king was not in the right mood to listen, it was that he was just not present enough. His heart and mind were in disarray. Some parts were numb, others were soft and sweet with peace, others were simply content. He was looking for the exact room of his heart where grief had settled itself. He did not want to tear it away. He wanted to turn it into something else. The snow was as soft and gleaming as Yeosang’s robes, and the sky was like his eyes. Hongjoong saw no reason to grieve. He had grieved enough. He had grieved for days.

“Um,” Jongho turned around. His cheeks were flushed brightly, his eyes as soft as a deer’s. The same pair of eyes that just about a month back had witnessed dozens of men falling to his feet. “I- Um,” He exhaled, scratching neck. “Hy-,” Then lifted his chin back up, bracing his fists. “Hyungnim,” He murmured in the smallest, most childish voice he has ever spoken in. “….H-Hongjoong hyung…hyungnim,” Then he clenched his teeth, and gulped.

Hongjoong tilted his head. “Yes?”

Jongho’s eyes illuminated like the sun at its fullest. His fears quenched. His lifespan increased by hundreds. “I wanted to say that…Well, birds fly because...because they've been blessed to. And because they want to. And sometimes because they have to."

Hongjoong smiled. Spring had already arrived in his chest. "I guess they do." He said woefully.

"I just— His Lordship told me— Well he told me it’s a secret, but…He said that you would want us to call you ‘hyung’. And...I'm sorry.”

“It's alright. I don't mind.” His smile became a timid one. When he saw the judgemental look in Mingi’s eyes, he could not even imagine him calling him anything else. That was a miracle never meant to be. “Don’t scold him now.”

“I was about to.”

“I know. But it’s alright. It feels nice. I wouldn’t mind if you called me-”

“I will not.” Then he switched his eyes back to Jongho, softly pinching his ear. “And you. Don’t forget your place.”

“Yes, hyungnim.”

For the second half of their walk, Hongjoong was half a step behind them, smiling without feeling guilty. He pondered upon how things had changed, and the symbol behind everything. How he had left the palace armoured, on a horse, surrounded by soldiers and flags. And how he had returned wearing clothes he did not know where he had gotten them from, walking through snow, with only four people around him, one of which was a mythical being. He laughed in the face of change. He was thrown in a pit of his own fears with nothing but his teeth and nails to crawl his way up. But when he reached the bottom, his fear-scape had grown a flora and a fauna. His fears had their own fears. But as he was confronted with them all, it all felt like a dream. Has he really survived stabs in the liver, drowning, pierced shoulders over bruises and crushed skulls? It was the kind of story that no son of his would ever believe.

Which was alright. Because neither did he.

When the palace gates appeared in his line of sight, a great part of that weakness shifted into something else. A much pleasant presence that did not make him want to rip his chest apart. Something much softer, not even close to happiness. But the closest form of joy he had ever felt. The palace was ahead, but where he looked was the opposite direction. He stopped, and smiled. “…There is somewhere else I need to be first.”


	22. Epilogue I: The Language Of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If an emperor maple blooming is what it takes for me to remember you, then may them never wither,”

Four springs came and went, one more coruscating than the erstwhile. The cherry blossom petals sang on the pavilion pond as they fell, and colours flourished more as the years progressed. Sweet springs thrived at their fullest, having only found piece within the palace walls. The clouds wrote themselves into poetry on the sky that graced them with a blue so vital, that the heavens appeared to have opened, and the wind, as gentle as a love song. Nights were never as dark as in winter, and the apple blossoms shone in the moonlight like polished pearls.

During the first spring of the first year, Hongjoong found a pile of sketches made by Yeori back when she had been his regent. At first he put them away, but then he decided to examine them, and he was glad he did. They were intricate designs of piping systems in case of drought. On that same day, he gathered the county leaders and gave order to have them built, crediting Yeori entirely. He also found a sort of diary in which she reported everything else she had accomplished during those two weeks. All the investments and reforms in the education departments. Hongjoong had been reported everything, but as he read, he smiled as if it was the first time hearing of it. He smiled because she struggled not to appear as if she was adulating herself. People tended to and decorated her tombs, which Hongjoong was grateful for, but he was afraid of knowing how many people were aware that the tombs were empty.

When the first summer came, and no rains seemed to want to bless the fields, the farmers and field workers praised Yeori and celebrated her through each harvest. Her name had appeared in the royal records, and the historian wrote about her as having ‘a shard of He Yufeng’s spirit within her’.

But the one who was most curious about this mysterious figure was the little prince. He had been four years old at the time, with the receptive skill of an old scholar. He had more questions than the books he was reading had answers, and his teachers always laughed when he would put a book down claiming it was ‘too easy’. They were children’s books which he was not interested in at all. Not when there were so many other things he did not know.

When Hongjoong first told his son about Yeori in all honesty, the prince was immediately reminded of Qin Liangyu, a Ming Dynasty female general. Hongjoong never ceased to be shocked at the big words that came out of the little one’s mouth. He was more than happy to share his old stories about her, though there were not many, until he realised that what the prince was waiting for was to finally be told that Yeori was his mother.

Hongjoong had gradually told him the truth about his origins. And because of that, he tried his utmost to be a big part of his life and participate in his education. They would go for walks together around the gardens after breakfast, study together, then Hongjoong would take him horse riding. The prince had his own practice sword, which he liked to chase Mingi around with when asking him to spar. He was the size of Mingi’s little finger, but he somehow always managed to defeat him. Mingi’s fondness of him surpassed the clouds. He honourably accepted defeat against a four-year-old.

Whenever they would spar, Hongjoong would open the window to his study room and watch them. Or just the way Mingi had to squat so they would be the same height.

The prince’s existence brought Hongjoong so much joy, that he remembered feeling it only one other time in his life. Him not having been born in the royal family has never posed a problem to Hongjoong, although to others, this had been a matter of high concern. “What does that mean? Having royal blood. Is my blood truly royal? And if it is, how could one tell? Is it royal because I am sitting on this throne, and surrounded by luxury?” He said to the minister most vocal about his worries at the time. “If we both spilled blood right now, I assure you that no one would be able to tell which one is royal and which one is not. —The child may not be blood from my blood. But I will raise him as he is. I will treasure his innocence and raise him as a son, and only after as a prince. And nothing will convince me otherwise.”

He placed his trust in his son like he entrusted his life. And he had done nothing but to make him proud. Hongjoong had not forced him into anything he did not want to do. When the prince did not want to study, Hongjoong would do so in his presence until he would follow his example. Over the years, he had become more creative in persuading him without making him feel pressured.

Hongjoong loved him probably as much as his mother had once loved him. However, when he was angry or exhausted, he refused to see him. Unless the little one was the reason he was angry. Hongjoong had quickly learned that he did not know how to deal with someone like himself. He had talked back his entire life, but anger would swell in his chest when his son would do that with him. There were times when he apologised, and other times when he would throw a tantrum. And when the latter would happen, Hongjoong would sit him down and prevent him from leaving the room. “If you want to cry, you cry in front of me.” And out of stubbornness, the prince would not cry.

“He may not be blood of your blood, Your Highness, but he mirrors you to perfection.” Mingi said once, supervising the price while he was learning how to fly a kite.

“He listens well, he just likes to boast.”

“I wonder who else does that.”

“Oh, you shut up.”

But he knew it was true. When he saw the prince replicating his mannerisms and speech patterns, Hongjoong asked himself what happened along the way.

After their every argument, no matter how small, the prince has developed a habit that left every court man and woman speechless and hopeful. The prince would always ask to be the one to put Hongjoong’s crown on every morning. Then Hongjoong would return the gesture. While they did so, they would share a quiet moment, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling. He bloomed with vitality and inquisitiveness, he would fall asleep while trying to memorise characters with over twenty strokes, and his favourite days were the ones where Seonghwa had to do his medical checkups. Even before the spirit would open the door to his infirmary to go bring him, the prince would already be there, shouting “Ready!” He loved hearing he was strong and healthy. 

Watching the prince grow so quickly in front of him brought him a sense of tranquility. He celebrated everyday of him being happy and healthy as if it was his birthday. During that time, Hongjoong had forgotten that time was also passing for him too. Every year, he had forgotten about his own birthday.

In the late autumn of the same year, on the day of Hongjoong’s birthday, he was summoned to the main office and told that packages were waiting for him. He had forgotten about them several times throughout that day, as the court had been busy preparing the celebration. A banquet and several music and dance performances were organised, short, comedic plays, and one specific flute number that had left Hongjoong mesmerised and positively nostalgic. He had spent more time in the ancestral hall than ever, and he had never felt his mother and father’s presence that closely before. For the first time, they were both just as close. While looking at his father’s portrait, Hongjoong smiled and thought three words to himself. _I forgive you_.

After almost forgetting about having been called to the main office for the thousandth time, he finally made his way there, and when he did, it was almost sunset.

There, on the desk, he found two boxes decorated in red lacquer. One was as small as a jewellery box, and the other was as big as a crate. There was no label and no other message attached to them. He took the smaller one first, unwrapping it and untying the ribbons around it. Inside he found two books titled:

Northern Deities Epics Vol. I - Mountain Gods and Spirits

Eunbaem: Local Tales, Stories, and Myths

Both signed as Jeong Yunho. Hongjoong smiled. He held the box’s lid tightly in his hands as within his chest surged a feeling that had been dormant for years. Both volumes had been crafted with expensive materials and tied with great patience. He picked the first one up, flipping through the pages as if they had been made of jade sheets, impressed at the level of detail and the number of annotations, but also Yunho’s elegant handwriting. It started with a list of all the named deities best known in the north, then a chapter dedicated to all of them. Then he looked through the second one, even slower, smiling at how Yunho had also dedicated a chapter to everything that constituted Eunbaem’s being: symbols, specific colours and the meanings behind them, preferred musical instruments, abilities and spells, reported appearances and sightings, and rumours.

He placed both books down a bit more excitedly than he had picked them up, and hurried to open the bigger box. When he tried to move it, he had struggled with it, even more curious about what lied inside. Since the boxes looked exactly the same, Hongjoong though it was still Yunho who had sent that one as well. What he had not expected, however, was for the books inside to be labelled differently than the others, and bound in a more artisanal way. Each cover was of a dark, wine colour, bound in black, with red flowers painted at the bottom. There were about twenty volumes, each with a different flower, but all of them were red. Carnation, calla lily, chrysanthemum, aster, scarlet sage, and many others. Hongjoong sighed, his heart afloat in his chest, as he walked his finger through the label. He had noticed the name of the writer before he saw the title.

Kang Yeosang

Complete Recent History of King Hongjoong

Softly biting his lip to hold it from trembling, Hongjoong opened the first volume, taking a seat at the desk. He read the preface with a foolish smile on his lips, only realising how many tears he had collected when he blinked them away. It wasn’t because of what Yeosang had written that made Hongjoong weep. It was that Yeosang could not have known that Hongjoong’s old historians had been exiled from the palace. He couldn’t have known that many of his records had been lost and lacked order. Hongjoong himself found that out that same winter when they were separated. He also wept because he thought about how long all that must have taken him to write. And also, if he was able to write, meant he was alive and well.

“I take great pride in being able to call His Highness my bosom friend. I cherish everything he has ever told me, and every moment we fought together and quarrelled and laughed. This is only a piece of history as seen through the eyes of someone who loved his just and libertine spirit. This is the recent history of someone whom fire could never burn.” Hongjoong read out loud.

He had another set of shelves built in his room, in order to fit them all there. Starting from the next day, all he did in his spare time was to read them all, starting with the ones Yunho had written. He also sent him a three-page letter to express his gratitude.

At the beginning of the book, one could see Yunho’s hostile attitude towards Eunbaem. Hongjoong smiled while reading the paragraphs in which he had tried so hard to appear objective. But as he progressed, it was clear that his views had changed. He wrote about Eunbaem more lovingly, and never left a poor decision of his unjustified. He had also dedicated a small number of paragraphs to Eunbaem’s life when he was at the peak of his power: 

“One could tell that he was the most worshipped mountain spirit in the land, as his shrines were always filled with coins and offerings. The prayers that carried his name only made him more powerful. But with that power came his vain and greed. It was his altercations with lesser spirits that were to blame for countless storms. He used the donations to buy luxurious robes, tobacco and sometimes opium, and was known for mingling with three partners at once.” Though the rest of the book repeatedly emphasised how noble and loyal he had become, those sentences had still left a hole in Hongjoong’s heart.

He loved reading at night, when it was most quiet. Next to the stand in the shape of deer’s antlers where his new sword lied, was another one, much smaller. Carved from wood and painted in natural colours, it was meant to resemble a tree. That was where he had placed Nari. After he finished reading, he would watch the flute for several seconds every night before blowing the candle out and drifting off to sleep. Or sometimes he would take Nari off its stand and place it next to his pillow.

Another gentle winter and gentler spring had passed, where things remained exactly as they were. Hongjoong had moved on to reading Yeosang’s biographies, currently on the tenth volume. He took a break for a week or two between each of them, because he had realised how invested he would get.

Days after he finished Yunho’s book about Eunbaem, it had disappeared from Hongjoong’s desk. That day he had an endless list of things to do. His secretary had been more stressed than he was. He had no time to search for the book. But the more he asked around and all he received were negative responses, he began to worry. This lasted for about three days.

That fourth day he found the prince in one of his favourite hiding spots, in a tree cave not too far from the horse stable grounds. In his hands there was a blue book.

“So you’re the one who stole it.” Hongjoong said with a smile.

The prince held the book, defensively, to his chest. “I didn’t steal it. No one was reading it.”

“Isn’t that too difficult for you?” Hongjoong asked, moments before he saw the notebook he kept next to him. There, he wrote the characters he did not know how to read.

With the other end of the brush, the little one pointed to the first word. “What is this word?”

“That is ‘prescribed’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Prescribing is something that physicians do. Like when you caught that cold, Seonghwa prescribed you those infusions. He advised you what to take. And then he wrote those down on a paper and gave them to the maid so she could buy them.”

“To…advise…medicine.”

“Yes.”

“Only physicians can.”

“Yes.”

“But Eunbaem is not a physician.”

“No. He is a herbalist. Herbalists practise herbal medicine and make medicinal herbs. Some could not afford to see a physician when they were not feeling well, so they asked Eunbaem for advice.”

The prince nodded, then pointed to the next word. “What is this?”

Hongjoong smiled. “…That means ‘prophecy’.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It does. Do you know what it means?”

“No. But it sounds like a bad word.”

Hongjoong often teased him for using big words, like ‘fastidious’ or ‘elucidated’, which he desperately tried to use in everyday speech, although he sometimes used them wrong. Nor he could pronounce correctly. But whenever Hongjoong promised himself he would unteach him, he would find himself teaching him more big words.

“It’s not a bad word.” Hongjoong chuckled. “Prophecy is knowing what will happen in the future. When something big is meant to happen at a given time, you call it a ‘prophecy’.”

“Eunbaem can tell the future?”

“San is the one who dreams the prophecies, and Eunbaem is the one who often comes to the human world to makes sure they are going to happen.”

“Does he…Does he still come to the human world?”

Hongjoong paused. “Why do you sound so sad?”

The prince placed his bookmark in between the pages, and closed his book. Then he gathered his writing tools and crawled out of his little cave. “I’m not sad. I just want to know if he still comes to the human world.”

“He sometimes does, but he is resting at the moment.” The little one replied with a shy nod. When seeing he had nothing more to add, Hongjoong went on. “But are you sure you can read that book? Do you want father to read it to you?”

The little one looked up at him with hopeful eyes with filled with affirmative answers, but then looked back downcast and shook his head, mumbling a barely audible ‘I can’. Hongjoong saw him thoughtful and less cheerful than usual. He bent down, his elbows against his knees, and studied his face. “…Your birthday is tomorrow.”

The prince nodded.

“And you told everyone you don’t want anything.”

Another nod.

“Why is that?”

“Because I want to read this.” He mumbled, his lips pouted.

Hongjoong’s heart grew thousandfold with how smitten he was of the little one. He ruffled his hair, chuckling. “You don’t want to celebrate your birthday because you want to finish your book.”

“Yes. I don’t like sitting down there. Too noisy. I want to read.”

“Will you accept at least a banquet? I don’t want a year to go by without celebrating you.”

The prince also broke into a smile, cherry blossoms blooming in his cheeks. “Alright.”

Hongjoong confirmed with a nod, then stood back up, heading towards the gate. His son followed him. Until he didn’t. “Father.”

Hongjoong gave him a delayed response, but he was staring at the tip of the mountain that for a second, became the centre of his Universe. “Yes?” But when he saw the prince not intending to answer, he looked at him. When he did, he also saw him looking at the mountaintop, entranced.

“Where is Eunbaem now?” He asked as if he shared a secret, but there was a crowd around them. “I want to go to his shrine. Where can I find one?”

Before Hongjoong answered, he smiled when the prince took his hand. "There isn't any of Eunbaem's nearby, but there is one of San's." He squeezed it back, pointing his other hand to the mountain. “Up there.”

“I want to go.”

“So suddenly?”

“Please, can I? For my birthday? I want to go up the mountain.”

“You know that’s not a short walk at all, right? And you will have to wake up early.”

“I will not sleep.”

“Then we’re not going.”

“No, I will sleep! Early! And wake up even earlier! I— You said…You said Eunbaem was the one who found me…and I just wanted to say thank you. So I have to go, maybe San will tell Eunbaem.”

When Hongjoong was alone, he worried. He was proud beyond his person; The prince's teachers told him he had always done well on tests and he actively engaged in his lessons; he understood complex feelings although he struggled with expressing them; when they played _janggi_ , his eyes were glued on the board and on Hongjoong’s tactic. But what he worried about was him growing too fast. But he knew that he was not growing for himself. He felt a sense of responsibility in his heart, too complex for someone his age. He understood filial piety on a profound level, as someone four times his age. He understood fairness and gratitude better than Hongjoong did. “We’ll go.” 

*  


“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll leave you behind!” Hongjoong said, fixing the strap that held his sword across his shoulders.

It was early summer, but the air smelled like spring. The sun was out hunting, but the trees were thick and the wind revitalising. That morning he was worried because he thought the prince had overestimated his energy and resistance, but although he was panting and his cheeks were on fire, he never stopped. He had his own little bag of snacks and water, and his practice sword across his back, because if his father had (a real) one, he needed to have one too. As soon as the banquet was over, he was the first to rush to change.

“I’m not,” He panted. “Falling behind!”

Hongjoong sighed, deciding to wait for him atop of the hill, where a much wider path began. Since that morning, Nari’s jade ornament had been shaking almost continuously, as if there was a human consciousness within it, and it had finally come to life. When he did not know which way to go, he would hold it in the air until the ornament would indicate the right direction.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“No.”

Hongjoong didn’t know why he asked. It was almost like the prince knew when Hongjoong was about to show him a hint of affection, and he rebutted it right away. Even when his kite had gotten stuck in a tree, and he knew full well that the only way to retrieve was to call for help or, Heaven forbid, ask someone to carry him, he fended both options off. So he decided to climb the tree himself. Hongjoong was in a meeting, with a window view right to the tree. Hongjoong gently set his cup of tea down, and, rubbing his temples, he said ‘Someone get him down from there before I do’.

“Shall we take a break, then?”

“But if we take breaks, we’ll never make it.”

“…Listen,” Hongjoong said, taking his hat off and using it to fan the little one’s red face. “This is not how I want you to challenge yourself. You are ambitious, and that is good, but don’t let this ambition be blind. If your feet hurt, we take a break. There is no rush. We will make it.” Then suddenly picked him up, patting his back when he would start complaining. But then he leaned his cheek against Hongjoong’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around his neck.

The lesson Hongjoong had learned from that moment was that he was a hypocrite. His lungs were breaths away from failing him, his feet stung, and the sweat that ran down his temple tickled him to the point of insanity. But he would have laid himself down on the ground for the price to use as a bed if he wanted to sleep. He persevered, and carried him safely to the river. 

Hongjoong dropped himself down with the moan of an old man, kicked his shoes off, rolled his trousers up above his ankles, then slowly dipped his feet into the river. He lied down, with his hands linked at the back of his head, with his hat over his face. The prince drew closer to him, then also took his shoes off, then dipped only his toe in the water, gasping softly in reaction to how cold his was. He tried again, with both feet. “Father.”

Hongjoong hummed in response. Then he remembered he was not allowed to do that in front of the prince, as he was trying to teach him to respond properly. “What is it?”

“That books you received on your birthday. The red ones with flowers.”

Hongjoong knew what he was trying to say. He smiled.

“They were written by someone named Kang Yeosang.”

“They were.”

Although Hongjoong couldn’t see, the prince smiled at him, kicking his feet in the air, admiring the water raining down in sparkles. “We have the same name.”

“Indeed you do.”

“I want to read them.”

“When you’re older.”

“Why do I have to be older?”

“…Please read books you’re allowed to read for now.”

The prince pursed his lips in a pout, grabbed his bag, and ate his cookies to draw the sadness away. When he picked a bigger one, he lifted Hongjoong’s hat from his face and fed it to him. From his left, where his father lied, he heard the soft sound of scraping, like rock against rock. His eyes opened wide, his first instinct being to grab a stone to throw it at whatever was about to threaten Hongjoong’s safety. “Father. The flute is moving on its own.” But then Hongjoong blindly took the flute in his hand, placing it on his chest.

“It’s alright. It’s just looking for its owner.”

“Who’s the owner?”

Hongjoong lifted himself up in a sitting position, putting him hat back, and accepting another cookie. He was not in the mood for sweets, but he was trying to understand why people refusing him made Yeosang so sad.

“Eunbaem is the owner.”

Yeosang lifted his head up like an arrow aimed to the sky, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity. He timidly stretched his arm, pointing to the instrument. “May I?”

“You may.” Hongjoong passed him the flute, and the prince took it hesitantly.

He tried holding it as the flutists did when they performed for him, spreading his fingers as much as he could, although he did not know how to place his hands correctly. He admired the carvings and the work that had gone into making the instruments as if he was an artisan himself, but other than the fact that it was shaped like a bamboo stem, and painted on, he did not know anything else. “We can go.”

“Are you rested?”

“Yes.” But he had already collected his bag and sword, carrying the flute close to his chest. He was already on his way, walking twice as fast as before.

Hongjoong tied the ribbon of his hat, but let it hang by his shoulders. There were not many things that flared Yeosang’s interest, but when it did, he knew nothing else. “Yeosang-ah,” Hongjoong called him when he had caught up with him. “Let me tell you about spirits.”

At that, Yeosang turned around and waited for him, wiggling his toes within his boots in excitement. “Yes, please.”

When they walked beside each other once again, they joined hands. “Do you know what they are?”

“They are like gods, but smaller.”

“Correct. And do you know how a spirit becomes a spirit?”

Yeosang shook his head.

“The process is call ascension. I know it’s a difficult word, but you will understand it.”

“Oh, I know this one. To ‘ascend to the throne’ or to ‘ascend in heaven’. To go up.”

“That’s right. In this case, someone can ascend from a human to a spirit.”

“Can any human become a spirit, then?”

“No. Not just anyone. Tell me, if you walked through a garden filled with flowers, which one would you pick first?”

“I would pick the one father wants and I would give it to him.”

Hongjoong laughed, ruffling the little one’s hair. But in his mind he told himself that no gift would ever be greater than his son’s existence. “And which one would that be?”

“The prettiest one.”

“And that is how spirits choose people. The ones with a good heart and a light soul will have the chance to ascend.”

At first, Yeosang hummed, but when Hongjoong looked at him to scold him, he noticed it that he had not done that in response, but as a way to indicate that he was reflecting. “What about your soul? Is it light?”

“I hope it is. I will let Eunbaem be the judge of that. I just know…there was a time when I wasn’t good. There were times when I thought I was the centre of the Universe, and I refused to listen to anyone. I thought I knew it all. And there were also times when I put people in danger because my ego was out of control. And that vanity and rage had taken its toll on me later.”

“But do you feel better now?” The prince asked, squeezing his hand.

Hongjoong squeezed it back. “I do. It’s you I have to thank for that.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You brought so much tranquility in my life. Things hardly ever anger me these days.”

“Tranquil…”

“Do you know this word?”

“No.”

“It means calm, or peace.”

“Oh…Tranquil….”

“Tranquility.”

Yeosang nodded. “Tranquility. Pretty word.”

“It is.”

“And if you feel… _tranquility_ …You can become a spirit.”

Hongjoong had to turn his head away to hold himself from laughing. The prince had his own manner of pronouncing new words. “Yes. But there are other things you need as well. But for now, I think this is enough.”

“I want to know.”

“I know you do, but you have to understand that some things are just to difficult for you now. When you grow older, we will have this talk again, and I will tell you more.”

Yeosang grabbed Hongjoong’s hand tighter, but that time, it was to show how upset he was, emphasised by the frown on his face. It was not that he was too small to understand what worried Hongjoong, but the fact that it would have been inevitable to continue the conversation without bringing the topic of death up. Yeosang knew what it meant, but he did not understand the lengths of it. He knew there was going to be a day when he will ascend to the throne, and he was still during the phase where he was excited about it. Because of that, Hongjoong had tried everything in his power to purify his soul. Through rituals, meditation and reflection. And a lot of reading. Even when his son would have grown up, he wanted to be there. There was an immense love in him, but there was also despair.

He felt safest when the little one was around him, and he was most anxious when he was not. There had been times when he asked Mingi to guard him during his lessons. Although Mingi tried to calm him and convince him that those people were safe, Hongjoong would not heed. Yeosang’s teachers had been chosen from a newer generation of scholars. Two of them were in their early thirties, the other was older. Hongjoong admitted that had been a part of an experiment as well. He wanted to see how differently the prince communicated with someone younger in contrast to someone older. He appeared to be more active and engaging in his lessons with his younger teachers. ‘Look what you did,’ Hongjoong said to the younger one. He left the scholar terrified for hie life, but then Hongjoong went on with ‘Now I have to argue with him to put the books down.’

It was around midday when they reached a place which Hongjoong recognised. He stopped, searching the area, trying to remember where from, which might have been very likely from the time when he was taken to the mountain the first time. He caught a glimpse of a tall and thin tree which had fallen after a storm, and the trees beside it held it from collapsing. Now that Hongjoong could see it up close, he thought it resembled a house’s roof, or a spot where one could easily build a shelter. In his hand, Nari rung like bells.

Hongjoong felt a short, but sudden tightening in his abdomen, then it subsided into a sensation similar to tickling. He held his hand over his liver and smiled. “Are you alright?” Yeosang asked, patting his hand.

“Yes. We’re almost there.”

He had never stopped to think about how the air around him had changed. How the wind began to sound like someone’s soft and sleepy sighs, and how the air smelled like rare flowers. 

As he walked, Hongjoong brought Nari to his mouth, drew a deep breath, and played five notes he was most confident in. Then he held his breath, and waited. Few steps later, he was met with the same tingling feeling in his abdomen. His heart started racing, and everything before his eyes began shimmering in gold. All of his weariness had vanished.

When he saw the beginning of the dark stone path among dense trees, he smiled widely. He let go of Yeosang’s hand, and sat down at eye level with him. “The first time Eunbaem took me here, he asked me to walk this path. It’s a way to introduce yourself to the spirit who owns this mountain.”

“San?”

“That’s right. At the end of this path, you’ll see a shrine. However, you will have to walk this path alone, and I will wait for you at the other end. I did it before, and now you have to do it. This is the safest place in the world, so don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Hongjoong laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling. “Good. I will go on ahead, and when I get there, I will let you know. Then, you will have to close your eyes and come to me, alright?”

“…With my eyes closed?”

“Yes. Think of it as a perseverance test from the mountain spirits. You will hear things. Voices will try to distract you. But you must never open your eyes. My voice will guide you. Do you think you can do it?”

“I can do it.”

Hongjoong patted his back softly, and began his walk on the path that he remembered so well, although he had seen it only once. The shadow wolves and Inmyeonjo waiting to greet him. His heart was beats away from breaking out of the body’s restraints, the lifeline in his palm ran infinite, and he felt like he could hear sounds from the other side of the mountain. It was that feeling that had captured his being that made him feel powerful. Wealthy and knowledgable in the arts of experiencing the plethora of feelings that humans could percept. He was yet to find something that compared to it.

When he reached the end of the path, he also opened his eyes. Yeosang was a small light in the distance, with the sun dappling over his dark hair and the blue of his robes. He nodded and placed his palms over his eyes. Hongjoong nodded once and opened his mouth to speak.

“Hongjoong?”

The king’s words remained unsaid. The colours before his eyes scintillated like the world knew no shadows, and every sound brushed past his eardrums turned to notes of the same song. First, he smiled, then he closed his eyes while he told himself not to cry, and only then he turned around in the direction where his name had been called.

He smiled until it hurt. At the heaven-sent creature who conquered his heart and soul with no sword and no war. He floated, his feet inches above the ground, silk ribbons decorating his ankles. His hair was much brighter, glowing like the sunrise at the top, then darkening to a daffodil yellow towards the tips, kept in a loose braid over his shoulder, and adorned with golden rings. His skin was smooth and porcelain light with no shadow to threaten him, and his eyes were one with the sky. In his hands he held a parasol, green with painted bamboo leaves, with a tassel attached to its handle. He wore only the first layer of his robes, surely revealing too much skin than he had wanted, but Hongjoong could see the layer of bandages wrapped around his chest and arms.

But the longing in his heart was too grand for him to worry. All the less when Eunbaem landed his feet on the ground, approaching him with the eyes of a frightened fawn. “You remembered me when the emperor maples bloomed?”

Eunbaem chuckled, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hongjoong. When the back of their hands brushed past each other, Hongjoong seized his chance and locked their fingers together.

“If an emperor maple blooming is what it takes for me to remember you, then may them never wither,” Eunbaem said, squeezing Hongjoong’s hand. “Is that little one whom I think it is?”

Hongjoong squeezed his hand back. “Yes.”

“…You took him in…You really did…” Eunbaem said with an unbelieving sigh, but he smiled. “How long has it been? How old is he?”

For a moment, Hongjoong closed his eyes, taking in the softness of his voice. “Five. Today.”

“Today? I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

“Father?” The prince asked, stopping for only a moment, turning his head left and right although he could not see.

“I’m here. You almost made it.” Hongjoong let go of Eunbaem’s hand, then crouched down to welcome his son in his arms. He had not told him how close he was until he fully wrapped his arms around him, giggling while the price squeaked in surprise. “Well done. Was it difficult?”

“It was-” But the rest came as a soft whimper when he glimpsed at the wondrous being standing behind Hongjoong. He buried his face to his father's neck, clinging to his robes.

“Are you going to get shy now? After you worked so hard to get here.” Hongjoong gave him a moment to respond, but when he saw he was struggling, he patted his back gently. “Come on, now. You don’t want to make a bad first impression, do you?”

“It’s alright. I’ll do it first, then.” Eunbaem said, leaning his parasol down and kneeling down next to them. “I’m Eunbaem. It’s an honour to finally meet you, prince.”

Hongjoong caressed the prince’s back to encourage him. When he revealed his face, his cheeks had bloomed scarlet, and his eyes were red as if he cried. “Um,” He looked downcast, his hands hidden within his sleeves. “I-I’m Yeosang. My father told me about you, and- and I read books about you, and it’s an honour to meet you too.”

Eunbaem tilted his head, his eyebrows arching upwards. Hongjoong could already read so much fondness in his eyes. “Has your father also told you that we have the same name?”

“Is your name not Eunbaem?”

“Eunbaem is like my second name. Yeosang is the name my parents once gave me.”

The prince beamed. The red in his cheeks deepened. “It’s an honour to have the same name as Eunbaem.”

“It’s an honour to have the same name as the prince as well.”

Hongjoong lifted himself up, running his hand through Yeosang’s hair to arrange it. Then, meeting eyes Wirth Eunbaem, Hongjoong held out his hand, in which he held Nari.

“…There it was,” Eunbaem said, softly. “I thought I lost it. I had forgotten where I left it.”

“…Forgotten?” 

With a hint of shame, Eunbaem nodded. “Things happened.”

Hongjoong narrowed his eyes in question, hoping to receive an answer from a glance alone, but for the moment he gave up and shifted his attention to the prince. “I’m going to pay my respects to San. After I finish, you have to do so too.”

But all the prince wanted was not to be left alone with Eunbaem. He was ready to follow his father, but then he turned around without saying anything more. Eunbaem also picked his parasol and stood up, leaning it against his shoulder. He looked in Hongjoong’s direction, with no particular expression on his face. “Um,” The prince attempted, and Eunbaem looked at him, leaning his parasol over him as well. “I wanted to thank you, Eunbaem.”

“Thank me for what?”

“For finding me and for taking me in.”

In his mind, Eunbaem was already down on his knees and holding him to his chest. But in reality, all he could do was look at him like he was the one whom he could call son too. “You needn’t thank me for that. You deserve every bit of what you have right now…Here,” Eunbaem said, giving him his hand to hold.

The prince reached to take it, but then he noticed dark pink marks all across his palms, and hesitated. “Are those bruises? Does it hurt?”

Eunbaem looked at his palm again, slightly embarrassed for having forgotten about it. “No. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind.” He smiled, placing his hand within Eunbaem’s. “I didn’t want it to hurt.”

In the shadows, lying down piled over each other, were three big, white tigers. One was rubbing his head against the other, while the one beneath was either purring or growling in frustration. The one who lied at the top smelled the new presence, and opened its blue eyes. When he jumped down, snowflakes flew from under his paws, and more as his fur moved along with the wind. Yeosang hid behind Eunbaem, clinging to his robes. He could not understand why Eunbaem was yet so calm when the tiger approached them. With his free hand, Eunbaem scratched the tiger’s fur, caressing his head in long strokes. “It’s alright, they’re gentle. They don’t bare their fangs unless they feel threatened.”

The tiger walked around Eunbaem, sniffing and studying the smallest human he had ever seen. Then he sat down and lowered his head. “He’s allowing you to pet him.”

At first, the prince touched the tiger’s forehead with the tips of his fingers, slowly ruffling its furs as he sunk his hand through. They were long and dense, but as soft as a rabbit’s. When they moved or scratched, snow or sparkling blue droplets would rise from their fur. Purring beneath his hand, the tiger lied back down, with his head against his paw, living his most untroubled moment with two hands scratching him. When he had completely fallen asleep, the prince stood back up, giggling and clapping his hands in joy. When he looked towards the shrine, he saw Hongjoong writing something on a thin, wooden plaque. He look at Eunbaem to ask for permission to go see him, but the spirit shook his head. “Do you…play for them?” Yeosang asked, pointing at the flute.

“Only before storms, when they feel restless.”

“Can you play other things too?”

“I can, but I have not picked any instrument up for years now. However, I do miss the sound go the haegeum. Is the prince passionate about music?”

“I want to learn to play the flute, like you. But I think they are too big for me.” He said, looking at his little hands, then showing them to Eunbaem.

The spirit’s heart soared with fondness, covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, as he felt his cheeks warming up. “Will you accept one as a birthday gift? I would have had it ready today, had I known.”

“For me? Really?”

“I could make you one a little more your size, and if you learn until the next time we meet, we can play together.”

The ring of Yeosang’s eyes sparkled like stardust, nodding with so much excitement, that Eunbaem’s cheeks began to hurt from how much he smiled. “Father,” The prince said once he saw Hongjoong walking their way. “Eunbaem said he will make me a flute and we can play together.”

“Ah, you’ve already won his heart, haven’t you?” Hongjoong poked his forehead. “Better practice, then.” Yeosang promised him with a smiled and a vigorous nod. “Go pay your respects now.”

“But I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Have you ever visited one of San’s shrines before?” Eunbaem asked, and the prince shook his head. “Then you’ll find prayers written there for you to read. But one thing you should remember are his name and titles, as that is how you must address him. So what you must say before you begin your prayer is: San- Messenger of the Heavens, Artisan of Palisades, Keeper of Wishes and Dreams, Protector of Mountain Tops, or ‘He Who Named the Mountains’…Should I repeat it?”

Yeosang shook his head, and with his chin up, he took confident steps towards the shrine, while chanting “Messenger of the Heavens…Artisan of Palisades…Keeper of Wishes and Dreams…” Gracefully kneeling on the cushion, with his long sleeves falling like landing butterflies, he held his hands together and prayed.

“I told him about you, and he insisted on reading books about you. If it’s alright if it’s not as a father, but I would love it for you to be part of his life as well. It would make him happy. It would make _us_ happy.”

Eunbaem lifted his hand, brushing the pad of his ring finger against the apple of Hongjoong’s cheek. “It would make me happy too.” He wanted to tuck his hair behind his ear, but Hongjoong held his hand instead. Firmly. Out of his pocket he took a small object, then he held Eunbaem’s hand with the palm facing down, slightly lifting his ring finger up, before sliding a red jade ring around it. “You dropped this.”

Hongjoong felt content, finally having been given the chance to return the ring. The first thing among many others he wanted to do. But when he stopped his reverie to study Eunbaem’s face, he was left confused. The spirit looked at him, then at the ring, then back at him. “Was this mine?” He asked with genuine confusion and innocence in his voice, but felt a jab of pain in his throat when he saw the hurt look on Hongjoong’s face. “I’m sorry. There are…some things I don’t remember. I have not been out in the world for a long time now. If you remind me. I will believe you. No matter what you tell me.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know…Is- Is this ring mine?”

From underneath his collar, Hongjoong pulled his necklace out. The same, old one from which the old parasol ornament and the blue jade ring hung as pendants. “From when we parted ways the last time. It was a promise. One that it was unfortunately not meant to be kept.”

Eunbaem caressed the back of Hongjoong’s hand, words of apologies forming underneath his tongue. He had not realised that it was more of his memories that the fire had burned, rather than his bodies. When he was alone, he felt complete with the all the memories he had left, and he felt happy. He knew that for him, everything seemed as though it had happened days before, but Hongjoong had lived thinking about that day for five years just so he would remember it. “It will be kept this time. I promise.”

“I promise too. I have so many things so tell you.”

“And I have all the time in the world to listen. I’ve missed your voice.”

They shared a smile that spoke for five years worth of ‘I love yous’, while their fingers smoothly braided together and their hearts beating one with the earth. When Eunbaem saw the prince standing up with the corner of his eye, he released Hongjoong’s hand. They went to sit down on the tree log by the shrine, with Hongjoong welcoming his son back with an open arm. Yeosang wrapped his little arms around him as well, pressing his face to his waist. “Well done.”

“It felt like someone was there with me.”

“He was. He always listens closely."

He let Hongjoong go, but rested his hands on his knees. “…Is it forbidden to walk around?”

“Why, do you want to explore?”

The prince nodded shyly. “I’ve never been on a mountain before. And I don’t think I will have the chance to visit one soon. Father, can I go?”

“This isn’t my mountain. Ask Eunbaem.”

“Eunbaem, may I?”

“You may. But only if the tigers accompany you.”

“I won’t get in trouble.” He laid a hand on his heart. “I promise.”

“Alright, but take your bag with you. You haven’t eaten yet.”

The prince ran to fetch his bag, then cautiously approached the tiger and patted him awake. “Eunbaem said you have to come with me.” The tiger lazily rolled on its side, yawning with a slight roar, then grumbling in displeasure, he stood up, and gestured the little human beside him to start walking. But instead, he sprinted like he was being chased, giggling his heart out.

“You were right.” Eunbaem said. “He does own my heart already. He’s too precious.”

“He is. I just wish there was more time to spend together like this.”

“But, if I may…How come you told him the truth?”

“It was better that way. I could not have anyone degrade him for his origins. I would have much rather shown him from an early age how powerful he can be. And now he is doing so well.”

“And how did he receive the news?”

“Quite lightly. He became inhibited for a short while after, but I’ve spent all of my time with him. Then one day he came to me, crying, and he said ‘I want to make you proud’. He said ‘I will study diligently’. And he did. He became very filial, and he holds Yeori in high esteem as well.”

“Yeori? Is that so?”

“I believe a part of him wants to think of her as a motherly figure. And I am letting him. I hope Yeori will allow it.”

Eunbaem paused, looking far away in the distance, then back at Hongjoong. “She said she she’s not worthy, but she is grateful. She also said you raised him well. And I agree. I’m impressed.”

“…You say that like you did not think I would.”

“I had my doubts. But I am glad I was proven wrong. You do sound like a father. I’ve never expected to enjoy it so much.”

“Do you, now?”

“You sound a lot calmer. And you smile more.”

“Maybe I’m getting older…We’ve been climbing since this morning, and he still has so much energy in him to go explore…And here I am, so overjoyed to finally be resting my feet.” Hongjoong sighed.

“Perhaps, but you look the same to me.” Eunbaem did his best to comfort him, patting his knee. “Your face is as smooth as it was before. Five years only added to your youth. I believe if you hand’t come all the way here, you would have still had the energy of a five year old in you.”

“I shall test that and tell you.” He smiled with only a corner of his mouth, leaning his hand over Eunbaem’s. “How about you? How do you feel now?”

“Better. A bit dazed, but much better than before. But I haven’t looked at myself lately.” Eunbaem took a lock of Hongjoong’s hair, playing with it like he used to years ago. It did not seem to make him as happy as it once did. “Did you…cut your hair?” Hongjoong nodded. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?”’

Letting go, Eunbaem folded his hands on his lap, eyes down, at how the wind made the parasol swing like a boat. “Well, you shouldn’t have, but,” he picked it up and closed it, then held the tassel hanging by its handle to for Hongjoong to see. “Look.”

Burying his hand in his palm, Hongjoong laughed. “You didn’t,” Then took the tassel in his hand, walking his finger over the red strands that looked like real thread from afar. The strands were mingled together with threads of gold, and secured at the top with a thin, golden ribbon. “No braids at all? I’m surprised.”

“Oh, here,” He put the parasol away, then picked up the second piece of ornament that he wore attached to the cord around his waist. Thin braids brought together in a thicker one, with jade beads sewn in uneven places, to give the impression of plum blossoms. “You never cease to impress me with how much patience lies in those hands of yours.”

“I had a lot of that while bedridden.”

“How long have you bedridden for?”

“San hyungnim told me that I have opened my eyes after months, and just a few more for my skin to start healing. But I have returned to the mountain just a few days go. But it was not the burns that took so long to heal. It was my bones and teeth. And eyes. When my brother told me I had lost my eyes, apparently an unbearably cold wind swept through the capital, and he rushed to comfort me.”

“Wait— bones, why?”

Eunbaem took Hongjoong’s hand and held it against his thigh, parting his lips to speak, but there was not enough in his mind for him to transcribe in words. He remembered pieces of conversations, and he remembered the sensation of slicing his tongue with his own teeth when someone had kicked him in the jaw when he had fallen. “Why do you think?”

Hongjoong braced his fist, crumpling Eunbaem’s robe as he did. He felt the layer of bandages rubbing against his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I mean— I did, but…”

“But it’s alright now.” Eunbaem whispered. He had other words at ready to comfort Hongjoong with, but then he saw him smiling. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “I just thought about how upset I was with you when I found out you lied to me about the bond. But then…You only did it to save yourself. And I cannot believe it, but I am so glad you did.”

“Why can you not believe it?”

“Because you risked it. You risked it all for me.” And because Hongjoong understood that there had always been a slight chance of his decisions hurting Eunbaem, but Eunbaem had never feared. Eunbaem had never spited him. One again, Hongjoong had failed to understand Eunbaem’s astronomical manner of expression his affection for him. He never looked at him like he was his murderer. He had never looked at him with eyes that said ‘I gave you chances to keep me alive, but you didn’t’. “I was ready to confront you. But my simple, human mind had forgotten what you do to me with a single glance. How could I have ever thought of that.”

“You can confront me. You must have a lot to say.”

“No. I am brave until you look back at me.”

“Then I shall look away until you finish.”

Hongjoong reached to touch his the spirit’s cheek, the tips of his fingers touching his chin, then sliding upwards. “I’d rather you didn’t. Would you really hurt me like that?” He felt his cheek flourishing with warmth beneath his hand as he shook his head. He carded his hand through Eunbaem’s sunrise hair. It was cold and smooth, if he closed his eyes, it would have felt as if walking his fingers through water. He leaned both his palms on Eunbaem’s shoulders, then slowly sled them down his arms, until their hands met. “Thank you for everything you wrote. Thank you for thinking about me although you were hurting.”

He held Eunbaem’s hands within his, beaming when the spirit opened them slowly, revealing his palms as august as a lotus blooming. He buried his face within the spirit’s palms, inhaling slowly, the smell of clay and grass and other fragrant herbs. It made every worry float away from his heart, and all those five years of waiting and pining had faded in an instant. Hongjoong kissed both of his palms slowly, letting his lips linger until they remembered what Eunbaem’s skin felt like. Then the heels of his palms, and both of his wrists.

“I have written a chapter-length piece just out of memory at first. Then I stopped. But then, as days went by, and the more I slept, the more I began to be missing. I had forgotten your name too. I had forgotten your face. Then I dreamt about you. And when I woke up, I’ve written your name again and again. I've never wanted that to become a historical record about the king, but then I’ve written in despair. I’ve written about you in as much detail as I could. Then I thought that more people deserve to know you the true you. Volumes poured out of my hands, and with that, the memories. But I regret nothing. My biggest wish has always been for you to live. Through body or word or metaphor.”

Hongjoong’s tongue melted like snow in his mouth, feeling his hand lift by themselves to Eunbaem’s face. He wanted everything, and he wanted it all right in that moment. Unsure how to quell that sudden urge, he wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed their bodies together. He buried his face to the spirit’s neck, to the only place in the world where seconds could become eternities each. “Eunbaem,” He whispered. “Yeosang,” And just a little louder. “I love you.”

The rest of him became as light as feathers under the arms that held him so tenderly. “I love you too.” He felt a smile in his voice, and he smiled back. His heart itched to say it again, until their lips landed together in the frailest of kisses, words spilling out of his chest and within Eunbaem’s. To Hongjoong, that moment had become the one when spring ended, and the summer winds embraced him tightly. “Tell me, have I changed? Does my soul feel light?”

Placing one last kiss on his temple, Eunbaem released him, and touched the space between his clavicle with his forefinger and the middle one, closing his eyes. Then he pressed them, until Hongjoong felt a slight shift in his breathing, but he endured it. Eunbaem lifted his fingers, and lowered them. With his ring finger as well, he pressed them right over Hongjoong’s birthmark. Hongjoong felt a similar sensation to lightning striking down right in the pit of his stomach. Lastly, he leaned the pad of his thumb in the space between his eyebrows, holding it there for the duration of three deep breaths. “Significantly lighter than before. There are still some dark stains, but very small.”

“Is it enough to have it ascend when the time comes?”

“I hope this is not a reason for you to excitedly await death.”

Hongjoong said nothing, for that was the reason, and perhaps those stains on his soul were precisely that.

“…Your Highness,”

“I do not await it. But I want to fear it less. I want to know that I will be in a better place. I want to know if I will be able to be there for my son until the end. And I want to know if you will be there to welcome me.”

Smiling, Eunbaem tucked Hongjoong’s hair behind his ear, red reflecting in his bright eyes. “If that is your reason, then yes. To all of those.”

“Then it shall remain like this.” Hongjoong said, kissing Eunbaem’s hand.

They held hands as gently as silence fell at their feet. Nothing which Hongjoong had wanted to say was worth that moment. He touched the pink marks on Eunbaem’s hands, outlining them like they were petals, then, on the back of his hand, he wrote a small I love you. Then the spirit wrote back on his hand ‘And I, you’.

“I’ll become your memory.” Hongjoong promised, drawing circles around Eunbaem’s pink knuckles with his thumb. “If you will allow it, then I will remember everything for you.”

Eunbaem playfully tapped his forehead twice, then lifting his finger slightly above the skin, he wrote the character for ‘gate’. “I don’t think you will be able to remember so much.” Eunbaem said with a smirk, picking up his parasol and standing up.

Hongjoong followed him, frowning. “If you provoke me, then be sure I will.” Hongjoong left his sword and hat behind, under the wright of the bag so he wind won’t blow it away, and followed Eunbaem. “Are you taking me to explore too?”

“We don’t want you feeling old.” Eunbaem teased, and Hongjoong elbowed him in response. “But you know, since you asked me about souls, I would advise you to be careful with the Crown Prince’s soul too. There is a presence there threatening at its walls. I believe you know what it is.”

“…I do. I would trade my soul for his if I could. I won’t let the past haunt him.”

Eunbaem made a contemplative sound, his eyes slightly above the treetops. They followed the same path that they remembered the prince had taken earlier. Their eyes scrutinised the area, and both exhaled reassured at once when they heard the boy’s giggle in the far distance. “One thing I have no memory of,” Eunbaem began, picking a small, purple flower that had gotten stuck within the ribbons on his ankles. “Is the Black Dragon Order.”

“The Order has been dissolved four years ago. Jung Wooyoung has dedicated a year of his life in assuring they would never return. Some have changed locations and identity. Some are dead. And others have been taken to Master Yunho’s temple to purify. But some have decided to stay and serve for longer. Now they are being taught to read and write. In his last letter, Wooyoung said that three of them are preparing to take the civil service exam. What a joke.”

“But who is this Jung Wooyoung you trust so much?”

“The one you named Geummae?”

“Oh, him. I didn’t know he used to be affiliated with…” Then he stopped, whipping his head around in surprise, eyes wide and azure, and yellow strands of hair stuck between his lips. “Wait, _him_?…He cannot…unless his name has been revoked and subjected to the same death as his first. Have I unnamed him?”

Hongjoong was ready to correct him and tell him the real story, but in the end he only smiled fondly. “Yes. You did. I was there when it happened.”

“You were…” Eunbaem slanted his eyes, elapsing into a disheartening silence. Hongjoong saw his eyes moving from place to place, searching his mind for the closest piece of memory he owned.

He felt something of a whiplash in the back of his tongue for having not upheld his promise so boldly. But also, he took pity on how the spirit struggled to defeat his amnesia. “I lied. Forgive me.” Eunbaem blinked, his eyes childishly innocent and curious, with no trace of spite or disappointment. “It…It was me.”

When Hongjoong wanted to withdraw his hand, Eunbaem held it against his chest. “You? How?”

“Um. Seonghwa gave me those talismans, if you remember.” He waited for the spirit to confirm, but he shook his head. “Naming talismans. He gave them to me without telling me what they were for. And I used them how I knew best. And…Ah, I don’t want to go on. I’m afraid you’ll hate me.”

“No? I wouldn’t. How did you use them?”

“Well, I,” Hongjoong’s hand began to feel uncomfortable where it was. And for once, he did not want to be standing so close to Eunbaem. Then, he realised that Eunbaem had strategically done so. “I wrote your name on one of the talismans. And I attached it to me. And…I wrote Geummae’s human name on the second one. And…”

“You…Pushed him?”

“Um,”

“…No. You- You didn’t.”

“There was no other way.”

“You…With him?”

“Yes.”

“In the sea.”

“…In the sea.”

“And you…both died…You gave your life away. So rashly."

Hongjoong nodded. Eunbaem dropped his hand, falling heavy to his side. “I’m sorry.” 

Eunbaem fixed him with the glare of a disobeyed guardian. Hongjoong had expected his pupils to start shifting and his fangs to sharpen. Until the spirit sighed and flicked his forehead. “Heaven forbid the Crown Prince becomes as reckless as you.” Then resumed his walk, leaving a bewildered Hongjoong behind. “I’ve received a year worth of prayers from someone named Wooyoung, but I did not know who it was…Perhaps if you hadn’t done that, things would have been the same even today. I do not approve of your method, but I do applaud your sharp thinking.”

Hongjoong listened with an appreciative nod, but did not accept the words, for the truth did not lie in what he said, but in the rigidity of his tone. Hongjoong stored the thought atop of the pile of his yet unsolved problems, and went to catch up with the spirit. He had ceased holding his parasol with both his hands, and when Hongjoong caught sight of his free hand, he reached to take it. But right when their fingers touched, Eunbaem raised his hand, pointing his forefinger at the tree clearing ahead of them. As soon as he saw, Hongjoong leaned his forehead against Eunbaem’s shoulder and giggled.

With only his head under the trees’ shade, a silver tiger slept. And using his foreleg as a pillow slept a little boy with his bag clutched in his arms, and breadcrumbs at the corners of his mouth. The tiger’s other leg was wrapped around the little human, which from that distance, his entire body seemed to be the size of the tiger’s head. For every moment when the prince lived his childhood in the purest ways, Hongjoong wished there were other ways for him to immortalise the moment. “I don’t want to wake him.” He mumbled. He wanted to build him a bed and a room and a palace right around where he lied, without him having to interrupt his dream.

“But do you have to wake him?”

“I thought I could take him to nap in his bed. But he will not sleep through if I carried him all the way…Unless,” Hongjoong trailed off. Eunbaem saw the cheeky smile on his lips. “Oh, if only there was someone…someone who could fly, maybe…And who could glamour us a shorter trip down this steep, steep mountain.”

Eunbaem gently shoved him, giggling. He was about to suggest the same, but found himself entertained by his theatrical piece. “Oh, just sit down.”

“You first, as my pillow.”

“Demanding, are we,” He smiled, seating himself at the base of a tree that was in complete shadow, smoothening the skirt of his robe for Hongjoong to lean his head on. But the king seemed to have changed his mind halfway through, and went to collect leaves and yellow flowers. Walking as quietly as a seeking feline, he placed the flowers and leaves through the prince’s hair, caressing the tiger back to sleep when he had opened his eye. “Ah, don’t tease him.”

He placed a last one to the shell of Yeosang’s ear, before proudly making his way back. “But look at how deeply he sleeps. These days even my own breath wakes me up.” He complained, dropped his head on Eunbaem’s lap in a surprisingly gentle manner.

“Someone’s getting old.”

“You say that now, but I could still fight you. And win.”

“And now we know why you cannot sleep at night.”

“Listen-” Hongjoong attempted, but Eunbaem quickly leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Then one kiss became many more, until Hongjoong had not felt the need to fight anymore. “Be gentle now, don’t wake him.”

“But,” 

“Gentle.” Eunbaem whispered, laying his first hand over Hongjoong’s head, caressing fondness into his hair; and his second over his chest, with only his thumb sled beneath his collar. When Hongjoong tipped his head back to meet Eunbaem’s eyes, he saw him looking in the prince’s direction, and smiling. “I’ve been wondering, are there still wishes that have been left unfulfilled?”

Hongjoong broke into a smile brighter than the feeling of experiencing epiphany, bringing his hand over the one that sat on his chest. He held it tightly while looking at the symbol of quietude, wisdom and love that was his son. “No.” 


	23. Epilogue II: Jade In A World Of Ether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look at the sky,” Yeosang said, but all Hongjoong could see was the celestial event that occurred upon the glisten of Yeosang’s lips as he spoke.

Hongjoong lied supine on the grass with his head under the pine trees’ shade, his body in full sunlight, and his heels sunk into the rivulet. The songbirds’ echoes from the mountain base came as lullabies to his ears, as he was breaths away from falling asleep. The skin of his chest was bronze and bare, sprinkled with droplets which loved him too much to evaporate. His hair was sprawled in a circle around him like the rays of a sun, with the tips yet damp. At the earliest hour of the morning, he had gone high diving from a waterfall retreat. He only knew that it was time to stop when the sky had already brightened to full daylight. When he cracked his eyes open, there was yet no sun that high, so he assumed it was still early. Time had become meaningless to him.

He was awakened from his first stage of sleep by a bug which landed on his nose. He brushed it away, then opened his eyes once again. He rose into a sitting position, his elbows against his knees, yawning like a lion. Having finally gathered the strength to stand on his feet, he wrapped the robe around him until it barely bordered into decency. He had gotten used to his shirts slipping off his shoulders, and him making no effort to fix that. He wrung out all the water out of his hair, then carelessly flipped it over his shoulder. All of his hair decorations had been safely stored into the satchel hanging by the pocket of his robe.

With feet light against the ground, no grass or wild flower bent under his weight. His hair had grown of lengths it had never been before, and with that, his patience had decreased. He brushed it to soreness every morning and every night, but it still had a mind of its own. After that, he would always wrap himself in red. From shades of garnet to much brighter hues, he only wore the warmest colours.

As soon as he took his first step into the grove, he found his lungs blooming and his tongue sweet with a floral aroma. He smiled with all of his being, searching his left and right. But his vision, no matter how enhanced, had not perceived anyone else’s presence. He knew every square of the forest as if he had been the one who built it, and he knew which parts were most frequented. He walked proudly, paving new paths wherever his feet stood, and concealing the ones he had not used. He sniffed the air, trying to determine how prominent the scent was, but its intensity had not changed. It was nowhere, yet everywhere.

Until in his peripheral, he glimpsed something that chromatically did not blend well with the forest. In the small cave of a tree slept a white fox shaped like a perfect snowball. Hongjoong shapeshifted, and stealthily made his way there, sneaking into the cave without waking him. That time, Yeosang slept with the tip of his tail tucked under his chin as a precautionary measure.

And that happened because it was not the first time when Hongjoong had tried sneaking on him. What he'd done past occasions was to wake him by biting his tail. Hongjoong had learned to never underestimate Yeosang’s strength ever again. As soon as his fangs met the fur of his tail, Yeosang snapped awake, sinking his fangs into the back of Hongjoong’s neck and tossing him to the ground. The second time, Hongjoong tried using an equally ineffective technique. That second time, Yeosang wrestled him until Hongjoong nearly wielded, then bit him by the tail and dragged him to a not so deep pit. And threw him in. And left him there. To that day, Yeosang did not know how he made his way out.

At present, it was the third time, and from the way Yeosang twitched, surely not asleep anymore, he was ready for anything. But Hongjoong, however, just lied down next to him, rubbing his nose through the white fur, then gently licked his cheek with only the tip of his tongue. Yeosang opened his eyes and turned around, his tail still fully protected. But when they met eyes, Hongjoong tipped his ears back and laid low, caressing Yeosang’s back with the side of his head.

While Hongjoong went on his adventures, which varied depending on the season and time of day, Yeosang went hunting for medicinal herbs for his dispensary. He waited for Hongjoong in the darkest parts of the forest, where the sun would never dare shine. It has always been like a game of hide and seek. Hongjoong had always found him, but he was surprised how Yeosang was still willing to play after getting his tail bit twice. Or maybe he was waiting for a third time so he could throw Hongjoong in an ever deeper pit.

Yeosang lifted himself up and softly bit Hongjoong’s ear to draw his attention, and when he did, poked his nose against Hongjoong’s, then licked his cheek, before walking out of the tree cave and picking up his little satchel filled with herbs. He only walked within the shadows, fearing the sun like it would scorch him. Hongjoong was his polar opposite. To him, the sun and the shadows were one and the same. When shifted, his fur was fluffy and as red as poppies, resembling a walking little flame from the distance.

When he walked through the sun, Yeosang basked his eyes in his glory, whether Hongjoong was shifted or not. He surrounded himself with red, regardless of the form. But what Yeosang has come to love the most in the world was his green eyes. As vibrant as new leaves, as glimmering as jades. It had only brought much more light to the red of his hair. The more time passed, the brighter it became. Yeosang spoiled his hair more than he spoiled his person. He spent a generous amount of time washing it, brushing it when he had enough of Hongjoong’s cruel treatment, and adorning it with green and gold.

As they walked back, Hongjoong noticed a tall and thin tree which had collapsed onto the ones around it. He thought it resembled a house’s roof. Now that he had gotten the chance to see it up close, he thought it was the right spot to build something. The terrain was flat, and protected by the trees in case of a calamity. The patch of earth that he was looking out was free of trees, and about the right size to build a small house. He shapeshifted back in his main form, and walked over, studying the new place with a smile on. Then he stepped away from it to better picture it.

“What do you see?” Yeosang asked.

Hongjoong had not heard him shift, or come his way, but he recognised his presence better than anything else. “How much time do you have?” He asked in response.

“Now?”

“Just in general.”

“…Centuries.”

“Perfect.” He turned to him and clapped his palms around his shoulders. “We’re building a house.”

Yeosang blinked. “We’re what now?”

“You and I. Shall build a house.”

“What do you need a house for?”

“…To live in it.”

“I don’t want a house. Too big.”

“Then we will build a very small room in the back for you to call your own.” He said in a joyful tone, but still received no positive reaction. “Think about it, you could have your own study room.”

“I do have a study room.”

“That is not a study room, that it is a cave that also functions as a storage room which happens to have a desk. You own too many things.” Hongjoong said, giving Yeosang one more moment to answer, but he did not. “Please.”

Yeosang sighed. “I say yes to building this house, but no to me living there.”

Hongjoong frowned, ready to protest, but then he suddenly softened with a new realisation. “…Alright.” He smiled cheekily.

“Why that smile?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do.”

“I do not.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s alright if you don’t want to live with me.” 

“…Is it,”

“Yes, I will let you believe that for now.” He teased, poking Yeosang’s nose, then his arms found his waist, embracing him tenderly. “You know better than I do that you cannot stay away for too long. I know you search for me whenever I’m away.” He felt Yeosang’s passive aggressive retaliation from ages away, so he kissed him before he had the chance to open his mouth. When Yeosang touched his face, he felt the cold of the ring around his finger. Hongjoong initiated the kiss to avoid confrontation, but it had lasted until he had forgotten what they were talking about. It was when he saw the frown on Yeosang’s face that he remembered.

“…Not here.” Yeosang mumbled.

“Hm?”

“…It’s too high. Let’s built it somewhere near the mountain base. It would,” Hongjoong grinned at the way he struggled to drag words out of him. “It would…be better in terms of resources.”

Hongjoong hugged him breathlessly, pressing kisses onto his forehead and temple. Until he didn’t. “Wait, do you mean that, or is it because you want it to be as close to your cave as possible?”

Yeosang untangled Hongjoong’s arms from around him, picked his satchel, and walked away, with a giggling Hongjoong hot on his heels. He had spared himself of several months of boredom now that he could finally commence the construction of his new house. Nothing could spoil that mood.

Not that anything had been able to spoil his mood for the past years. He and Yeosang had travelled for months. They went on a cultural and historical journey in every neighbour country, spending weeks in each and every one, learning languages and lores of local spirits and deities. Hongjoong’s mind sparked with the light of an endless starry sky, and in less than a year, he had learned than he had ever had the chance while he was human.

“Have you had any fevers lately?” Yeosang asked.

At the beginning of a rough winter, Hongjoong came down with a fever, which had quickly come down after treatment. But for the next weeks, it had recurred more and more often, and each time his skin felt warmer. Soon came the inability to draw a full breath in, then the frequent coughs. His condition had stirred more concerns and questions among the physicians around the country, and it felt like everything and everyone had stopped functioning while they struggled to find a cure. During that time, Hongjoong was always found in his study room working, even more intensely than before. The only ones allowed to enter his room were Seonghwa and Yeosang, for spirits were unable to contact human diseases. That had lasted for another month. In which Hongjoong had grown so physically weak, that he could not hold a brush without trembling anymore. He endured everything quietly, through chills and hallucinations, and he fought for even a second more. He had lost his ability to speak coherently and looked everyone in the eyes with the same empty and confused look. When Yeosang noticed, he touched his burning forehead and asked him ‘Do you know who I am?’ To which Hongjoong closed his eyes, shaking his head as he shed his first tear. He lifted a trembling had, pointing at the door, and mumbled words that could have only meant ‘son’ and ‘please’. Yeosang nodded and went to meet the Crown Prince. He had been sixteen at the time, but wise beyond his age. The spirit explained to him how if it comes to that, he was going to be the first one to see him after his ascension. Hongjoong had taught him to never fear death, but Yeosang did not have the heart to even utter the word. The prince nodded, and begged Yeosang to end his suffering gently.

And so he did. The same way he had done with Her Royal Highness many years ago. To the present day, he was unable to understand why he could not cry. He closed Hongjoong’s eyes, and performed the ritual as if next to him lied a stranger. He only cried during the funeral when he saw the prince crying. And after, once more, when the prince cried in his arms.

“No.” Hongjoong replied after a short, quiet moment. “I’ve been well.” Then took Yeosang’s hand.

After he had awakened in his spiritual body, the fevers persisted for the first year or so, milder as months progressed. They happened at irregular times, and they usually began with a feeling of vertigo. Yeosang had repeatedly told him to take his hand or grab him when he felt like he was about to lose his balance. And Hongjoong did. So now, whenever he took his hand, Yeosang looked at him with a hint of concern. Hongjoong had collapsed in his arms too many times for him to be calm. This is why he, indeed, had always gone searching for Hongjoong when he was out adventuring for too long.

Although he had been in danger of those episodes occurring at any given time of day, Hongjoong still went to see his son again as soon as he could. ‘If I see him, I will get better’ he said. Since, he had been visiting him frequently, sometimes just to wish him good night.

Hongjoong thought Yeosang was taking him back to his cave to drop off his satchel and get ready for his afternoon schedule, but when reaching the base, he took another path. Hongjoong recalled it connecting to a road which led to the riverbanks. “There.” Yeosang said, pointing towards a clearing where only dandelions and short grass grew, wide and ringed with speargrass. Hongjoong only hummed and smiled. “Do you not like it here?”

“I do, I just…You did not need to search for this place. It’s almost like you’ve been here before and you thought of the same thing…Now you saw the chance and you took it.”

Yeosang shook his head. “I thought…something could be built here. I did not think of a house. Because I never wanted to live in a house. But I like it here. The trees are tall enough to provide shade at most hours of the day.”

Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong walked around the clearing, inspecting. “So that’s why. Because it’s away from the sun.” To which Yeosang shamelessly nodded.

Hongjoong plucked a foxtail straw and stuck it between his teeth. Yeosang was yet trying to understand why he found it so endearing when he did that. “Have you thought about my name lately?” He asked, picking a dandelion, and placing it to the shell of Yeosang’s ear, smiling at how it blended with the colour of his hair.

The forest spirit who first received Hongjoong’s soul before his ascension was a young lady named Jushin. She was aware of their relationship, and allowed him to care for Hongjoong. She also gave him the responsibility of bestowing a spiritual name upon him, given that she gave her accord before the ritual.

Yeosang had been more than honoured, but the only issue with that was that he had a list of many characters to compose his name. The second issue was that Yeosang yet deemed him unready to become a spirit. There was still so much human in him. Yeosang let him be for the first years, he let him live on the mountain with him for as long as he wanted. He let him spend time with his fellow forest spirits so he could learn more about his new self. The third and last issue what that Hongjoong had always fired with emotions, and he was yet unable to control their intensity.

“I have. Should I hurry?”

“No. But I wonder why you hesitate.”

“Because…The spirit realm is another world in itself. If I name you, you will be granted access there, and with that comes a great set of responsibilities. New rules, new teachings. An entirely new hierarchy. And you will have to start thinking about what you wish your spiritual duty to be. I will also have to give you your titles-”

“You don’t have to give me titles.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want special treatment. Besides, if you bestowed titles upon me from the beginning, I would have fewer things to do, and I would spend more of this eternity being bored. I want to do more than just speak to the trees.”

Yeosang smiled proudly, picking the dandelion by his ear and hooking it against Hongjoong’s, then stealing the foxtail straw from in between Hongjoong’s teeth, and placing it in his mouth. “Alright. I’m looking forward to you bothering me less.”

“You say that so bravely, but wait until I get another fever-”

“Don’t use that as a joke. I told you it’s not funny.” Yeosang furrowed his eyebrows, then threw away the foxtail straw.

“I didn’t mean to.” Hongjoong apologised, leaning a hesitant hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. The energy around him always shifted drastically when he was remotely upset.

Before leaving, Hongjoong looked at the clearing one last time, to perfectly immortalise it in his mind. When he had caught up with Yeosang, he saw him keeping his hands hidden within his sleeves, a habit he had when he was in his studious state, when he walked past smaller spirits, or when he was inhibited. “The meteor shower is tonight, isn’t it?” Hongjoong asked. Then he stretched his arms and linked them at the back of his neck as he walked. Yeosang hummed in affirmation. “You’ve gone quiet. Are you upset?”

“No. I was just thinking about your name. I receive a lot of inspiration when I walk with you.”

“What do you want it to signify?”

“Well, I have been looking for one to hold both significance to your human life, and this one. I don’t want you having been king to remain just a memory. I want it to carry through in your name.”

When Hongjoong thought about it, he remembered that back during the days when hey had been travelling, Yeosang would often write things on his forearm. While they walked, while they sailed, or while they measured each other when they were about to sew new robes. Hongjoong had glimpsed at the characters written on Yeosang’s arm, and they did not make sense all together. He had written anything from ‘cassia’ to ‘deer’ to ‘hibiscus’. He did not know what all of those could have been part of his new name. 

“What if,” Hongjoong broke off, considering. “You choose one that means something to _you_?”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you are also something I would like to keep forever.”

Yeosang hid his nose behind his sleeve as he giggled, flustered at the sudden solemnity in Hongjoong’s voice and eyes. “So suddenly?”

“I’ve always felt this. But you always forget.”

“I never forget. I just sometimes think you say this just to fluster me, or to let you get away with things.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “No. I’ve always meant it. And I mean it now too. I want to have a part of you in my name, so every time I will be called, I can honour the one who has named me.”

“Then,” Yeosang took his hand, the one on which he wore the blue jade ring. He smiled as he remembered Hongjoong’s reaction when he had managed to adjust it so it would fit around his finger. But what Yeosang had never told him was that he had to break it in order to make it again. Hongjoong’s hands were smaller and his fingers were much thinner, and he became sensitive if anyone commented it on it. “Honggyu.”

Hongjoong whispered the name to himself, then looked at Yeosang with curious eyes, trying to guess its meaning. Then, within his palm, Yeosang wrote ‘red’. And when he wrote the second character, Hongjoong’s hand fell soft and weak, had Yeosang not been there to hold it— A ceremonial jade plate carved at the top, given by the king to the crown prince upon his coronation. He read the name over and over again like it was the most precious gift he had ever received. “…Honggyu.”

“It seems you’re happy with it.”

“I am.”

“Then I shall go speak with Lady Jushin.” Yeosang excused himself with a short bow, and turned around.

Hongjoong parted his lips to say something, anything, perhaps to ask him to wait, but only grabbed the hems of his robe, and as soon as he did, he felt like he had fallen still in time. Not knowing how to proceed without having Yeosang ask questions, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him until his back met his chest. Hongjoong brushed the tip of his nose against Yeosang’s neck, giggling when he other did. “What?” Yeosang asked. Hongjoong rested his forehead against his shoulder, biting the inner wall of his cheeks, which were already hurting from how much he had been smiling.

“You just reminded me how fond of you I can be sometimes.” 

  
*  


“Hyungnim,” Hongjoong began. “Guess what happened today.”

“Oh?” San asked, tilting his head.

Hongjoong sat behind him, dividing his enormously long hair in equally thick locks, as per Yeosang’s request. He found out that San cut his hair only once at thirty years, and even then, only when Yeosang reminded him that while he was walking, he was sweeping leaves and twigs more efficiently than a broom.

They were in Yeosang’s cave, where the spirit had to clear half of the furniture and items lying about to freely fit San’s hair inside. Cutting San’s hair was a process that sometimes took hours, not because that was how long it was meant to take, but because Yeosang was just that meticulous. While he went into the city to steal a pair of scissors, Hongjoong was responsible for preparing everything else.

“Yeosang named me.”

“Oh, has he? What has he chosen for you?” He asked as if did not already know.

In the past, they had recurring discussions about San’s age, for Hongjoong never knew how to refer to him or how to address him properly. Not as a spirit, but as family by alliance. Yeosang had done intense research on the topic, flipping through the pages of over two hundred spiritual history books, only to find out the first time San’s name had been mentioned. He had suffered something of a crisis when he realised that, in human years, he and San were the same age, and Hongjoong was just a year older, but in spirit years, San was a few dynasties old.

“Honggyu.”

“Yeosangie had mentioned this one to me before. I believe I would have chosen the same. Do you find it find it fitting?”

“If Yeosang finds it fitting, then it is fitting.”

The two have built a stronger bond by stargazing each night when the moon was clear. San told him stories about how the world had been before Hongjoong’s great-grandmother had even been born, he improvised poems, and told him about the laws of the spirit world. About the gods each spirit worked under, and their hierarchy. His voice was brighter than Yeosang’s, but just as soothing. During one of his early nights, when Hongjoong still felt human needs, like tiredness or hunger, he had fallen asleep while San recited a poem. He stood beside him throughout the night, protecting him, but when Yeosang found him, he pinched his nose until he woke up, and said ‘How dare you,’. What Hongjoong had never expected him was for San to scold him for it. ‘Don’t be so harsh with him if you love him’, he said in the sweetest tone. Since, San began to lovingly call him just ‘Joong’, and it was so clear from his tone how happy he was that they became family. ‘You’re something of a brother-in-law to me, and I love you’.

Yeosang’s blue flames entered the cave one by one before he did, assuming their seats within their usual candleholders. “I am never losing my scissors again.” He sighed, grabbing his hair comb and kneeling behind San, taking the first lock of hair in his hand. When the tips of San’s hair swam through dirt or mud, it would always come out as bright and crisp as snow, and when twigs would tangle among his hair, they would always fall on their own. The longer it was growing, the smoother it became. Yet Yeosang always took his time with brushing it.

“But hyungnim, why do you always let it grow to such length?” Hongjoong asked, finally stretching his arms after dividing hair for the past hour.

“Everything spirits wear or do is symbolic.” Yeosang replied instead.

“I know.”

“Therefore…?”

Although they could not see, San smiled. Yeosang teaching Hongjoong about spirits might have seemed as deep, philosophical to someone else, but to him, it was like a parent teaching their children basic knowledge. Symbols were one of the first things that spirits learned when they began their ethics lessons.

“I don’t know.” 

“…What springs from mountains, and it’s long and white.”

Hongjoong thought. “Oh. A waterfall.”

“Well done.”

“San hyungnim, I never knew your hair was meant to represent waterfalls. I like it a lot more now.”

“Thank you.”

“But, you know, for someone who is meant to be a mountain spirit, you’re quite small.” Then instantly made a pained sound which surely came from Yeosang kicking him somewhere.

San, on the other hand, agreed with a chuckle. “There has to be a trade-off somewhere. Think of Yeosangie. The wind is light and gentle, but he is very physically strong. He does all the heavy-lifting for me.”

“And he is also small and fragile as opposed to the wind turning to storms.” Hongjoong teased.

“Exactly.”

Yeosang held his words, clenching his jaw. But that did not last. “Don’t talk to me about being small when you have the hands of a baby.”

In his hands, Hongjoong held a wooden bowl, which they used to collect all the cut hairs, which then he threatened to throw at him. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“No, I don’t feel like letting you win right now.” Yeosang said, wrapping the pieces of hair around his hand like they were strings of fabric and cutting the bigger part first, before trimming the ends once again to give it a more natural finish.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, leaving it at that. He picked a strand of hair that had fallen off the edge of the bowl, surprised to see it turn to water right away upon touch. Then one by one, so had the other strands, until he had to take the bowl and pour the water outside.

“I’ve heard you wish to build a house.” San said after a while, mostly concerned about the two being quiet behind him. He was yet to learn when they were upset at each other or when they bickered like children.

“He does. I don’t.” Yeosang tapped San’s shoulder as a sign that he was done. He collected all of his hair into his hands, bringing it over his shoulder and running his fingers through it; droplets fell from the ends as if from a weeping willow. His hair was now little above his knees.

“But I remember you saying you wish to settle down. Have you changed your mind?”

Yeosang lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, setting the pair of scissors aside and taking the water filled bowl outside. San and Hongjoong shared a confused glare. “Have you talked about this, then? Was it wrong of me to ask?”

“No, it’s alright. We have not talked about starting a family these days. I will wait for him to ask first.”

San shook his head, but he smiled. “He might be too timid for that.” 

Hongjoong knew. He tried to remember if Yeosang had always been that timid. Other than travelling, he had never taken initiative for anything. When he took this matter to San, he was told ‘He struggles with making himself happy. Sometimes you simply have to guess what makes him happy.’

“Thank you for your patience.” San said after they left the cave, and were on their way to the perfect spot to view the meteor shower.

“I should say the same thing to you every time you get me out of trouble.”

“No need. It keeps me entertained.” He smiled, then he looked at Yeosang, who had once again gone quiet. Ruffling his hair, he asked “I shall see you in the morning, then?”

Yeosang nodded. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He shapeshifted, and dashed through the night, until the only trace left of him was the water droplets sparkling like silver dust.

Yeosang gave Hongjoong his hand to hold, as their feet lifted from the ground, and before they knew, the pine trees became only specks of dark in the distance. “It’s just a meteor shower, why can’t he stay with us?”

“He has to stay with the higher spirits.”

“Have you always been alone in the past years?”

“Yes. But I never minded. I used that time to reflect.”

“On?”

“Everything.”

Hongjoong hummed, looking at Yeosang with hopeless eyes. People had warmed Hongjoong that for spirits, time passed much faster, and even quicker within the spirit realm. He had forgotten how long he and Yeosang have known each other for, but he had never stopped marvelling at how continuously expanding his being was. Just when he thought he knew him well, he did something new. A part of him missed him sitting down on a tree branch with his parasol over his shoulder, simply taking the world around him in. These days he still did, but only if persuaded. He was the kind who always needed to have his hands busy with something. Hongjoong had asked him to take a break once, and Yeosang’s mistake had been to tell him these exact same words. Hongjoong placed his hands within his, saying ‘Now your hands are busy’.

They sat down on the grass at a decent distance from other groups of spirits. Hongjoong became popular among the ones of the same spiritual age as him. At first it was for his appearance, which for a forest spirit was considered eccentric, then news travelled that he had been king in his previous life. And lastly, because of his love-hate relationship with Eunbaem.

He tapped Yeosang’s shoulder to signal him that he will return shortly, but he was too lost in his thoughts to hear him. He found Hongjoong sitting with his usual group of friends, laughing and shoving them playfully. Yeosang had overcome the phase where he could carelessly laugh with everyone. When he saw groups of spirits living their spiritual life at their fullest, he could not help but remember that those were young people who had all died.

When he saw Hongjoong saying his goodbyes, Yeosang quickly turned his head to the sky, gathering his knees to his chest. Hongjoong dropped himself down with the elegance of a rice sack, wrapping an aggressive arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, tickling his cheek with the grass straw between his teeth. “Look,” Yeosang mumbled, showing him his hand. Hongjoong took it before he even looked at it. “I pricked myself.”

The weight of the entire world collapsed over Hongjoong’s shoulders, his heart grew three times its size, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to embrace the life out of Yeosang. His eyes glowed like fireflies, and peonies bloomed in his cheeks. “How did you prick yourself?” Hongjoong asked, kissing the finger with the red dot, then the rest of them. “Sewing?”

Yeosang nodded. “But I finished your robe.”

“You did? Thank you.” He leaned his head on Yeosang’s shoulder, switching his eyes from their tangled fingers to the sky.

A loud gasp came from behind them, followed by a high voice yelling that they witnessed the first meteor. San had told Hongjoong what to look for during a meteor shower, which direction to face and whatnot. He had listened actively, but stargazing never failed to make Hongjoong sleepy. But that night he had someone to impress, so he refused to embarrass himself with falling asleep there. He peeked at Yeosang, at his eyes, wide and astir like a clear lake an arm’s reach away from the stars. Hongjoong saw meteors flashing across his eyes before he saw them in the sky, and they recurred more often than they did above him. “Look at the sky,” Yeosang said, but all Hongjoong could see was the celestial event that occurred upon the glisten of Yeosang’s lips as he spoke.

“I am.” Hongjoong replied, having forgotten there has ever been another sky. 

  
*

“Hongjoong.” Yeosang called from somewhere below him. He hadn’t opened his eyes for hours, but as he did upon hearing Yeosang’s voice, he tried to recall how he had gotten there.

He went on a walk through the darkest parts of the mountain, wanting to encounter some animals to play with while Yeosang finished his morning chores. He woke up on a cliff, soil through his hair and his shoes also dusty, with a very vivid memory of a musk deer sniffing him.

The sun slapped him over the eyes as soon as he opened them fully. He covered them right away, groaning. “Come get me!” He shouted.

A moment later, a wide shadow fell over him. He smiled as soon as he felt the scent of magnolias around him. “I thought you hurt yourself.” Yeosang said, devoid of concern in his voice.

“The sun hurt me.”

“The sun hurts me every day. And you judge me for it.”

“Now I understand.” Hongjoong whined, making no effort to stand up. Instead, he spread his arms.

“You told me to come find you when it starts.”

“Oh, has it started?” And just like that, he stood up, slapping the dust off his robes. He took the parasol from Yeosang’s hand and held it over both their heads. It was a small gesture that Yeosang was never going to admit how much he appreciated. “Are we late?”

“I believe we’re not. What were you doing here?”

“I don’t know. I was going to meditate, then a small animal started following me, then we played, then I fell asleep.”

“You worried me. I thought you collapsed.”

“If it’s not in your arms, then what is the point.”

“…Will you ever stop?”

“No.”

Hongjoong extended his hand to Yeosang for him to take in order for them to fly down, but the last thing he saw was Yeosang smirking in his direction, before shapeshifting and running. “Wait-” But Hongjoong was hot on his heels. In his fox form, he was just a little bigger than Yeosang, and he was yet to determine if he was faster as well. When they chased each other— when Hongjoong chased Yeosang, he had always thought he was. But Yeosang’s vision was sharper, and he had always successfully evaded being cornered of thrown down. Until one particular autumn, when Yeosang refused Hongjoong’s affection, which resulted in them chasing each other. And while they did, Yeosang looked back, panting, thinking he had lost him. When he peeked from behind a tree, he saw Hongjoong sniffing the ground, tracing him. His fur glowed like fire over the warm coloured foliage, and his eyes green like he was the harbinger of spring. Blinking himself out of his sudden infatuation, Yeosang walked out of his hiding spot, regretting it right away when, despite giving in, Hongjoong still crashed into him, burying his nose through his fur, rubbing their heads together, and nibbling at his ears. All at once, if he could.

I n the present day, Yeosang seems to have gathered all of his strength for that particular race. He had no intention of slowing down, and he had suddenly gained the ability to leap over much wider obstacles. Hongjoong used to think that his advantage was that Yeosang could not camouflage himself through the verdancy, but he was the wrongest he had ever been.

Yeosang began slowing down when they had almost reached the place, turning around and growling at Hongjoong, knowing the latter was about to charge at him. Hongjoong tipped his ears back, keeping a safe distance. After they metamorphosed back, Yeosang flew them both up the length of a pine tree, high enough to offer them an ample view of the palace court.

It was the day of the new king’s wedding, who went by the regnal name of Hyojoong. He had sent Hongjoong a long letter about how he felt towards the queen and about marriage in general. He had not left letters for him as often as he did when he was younger, and Hongjoong knew that from then onwards, he should expect even less. But he treasured every single one of them. He sometimes reread them when he missed him, even the ones he had once sent to Yeosang when he was a little boy.

“How do you feel?” Yeosang asked, taking Hongjoong’s hand and holding it against his thigh.

“Irrationally nervous.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go there?”

“No. I will congratulate them later.”

“How later? You won’t disturb them during their wedding night, I hope.”

Hongjoong’s cheeks went pale. He swallowed hard. “I had forgotten about that…I suppose..I mean— He is not a little boy anymore.”

“Ah, you’re such a…” He shook his head.

“What, did that make you cringe?”

“No. I was going to say that you’re such a _father_. Seeing you worry about these things. It’s amusing. I’m sure he’ll do well. He’s a gentle soul compared to you.”

“Please expand.”

“I’d rather not.”

Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I am gentle.”

“Now say that until you believe it.”

Hongjoong glowered at him, until Yeosang glowered back, then he looked away. He felt something he struggled to express. He was happy, exalted even, but he only wished there was a wider ground beneath him. He grabbed the tree branch he sat on tightly, in fear of falling, and he was close to telling Yeosang that he might fall. He watched the king and queen ascending to their thrones, and he saw them clearly, as if he stood closest to them, through flags and red robes. He had utmost fate in his son, and through his letters, he expressed how sanguine he felt in his heart. More than half of the letter was dedicated to him promising Hongjoong how loyal he will be to the queen and her family. ‘I will treasure family as you taught me to’, he wrote. Upon remembering that, Hongjoong squeezed Yeosang’s hand. “I take it you feel differently now.” Yeosang noticed, and Hongjoong nodded. “He will do well. He has done well thus far. He has you-”

“And am I some sort of indemnity? Am I his assurance?” Hongjoong asked in a voice that made Yeosang reminiscent of some darker times. He winced, having lost any form of connection to the present, as he tried to understand why his mind correlated that voice with trauma. Hongjoong looked in his direction, eyes wide with shock. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, also surprised at what came out of his mouth. Out of all the things he thought he would feel, that is the one he had expected least. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

Yeosang let out a nervous laugh. “It’s alright. I just did not think you would be so angry.”

“I’m not angry. I just worry this gentleness of his might seep where it shouldn’t.”

There was nothing Yeosang could say to that. As much heart as he once put in a promise to raise a son with Hongjoong, he had not come close to keeping it. When Hongjoong behaved as he did that morning, it became difficult for Yeosang to remember that he had once raised a son.

They watched the rest of the ceremony in silence, until the king and queen had to pay respects to each other’s family. And when his name was mentioned, Hongjoong’s chest tightened, and he jumped down from the tree without looking back. With the back of his hand covering his mouth and his other over his stomach, he leaned forward, slowing down his steps. He fell on his knees and he wept, his eyes yet opened and bewildered at the new wave of emotions that had resurfaced from such a small thing. Yeosang kneeled next to him, wrapping a loose arm around his shoulders. The night before, Yeosang had warned him about this, and he believed him, but the only reason why he insisted was because he wanted to support his son.

Yeosang took him back to the cave and prepared his remedies for a fever, despite Hongjoong saying it was not a fever. But it was. “Now you see why you’re not ready to be named yet?” Yeosang asked, gently, laying a cold compress on Hongjoong’s forehead, and standing up to prepare his infusions. Hongjoong could deny that with all of his body, but his voice. Yeosang had never left his side, only wiping his tears and caressing his hair while Hongjoong wept his anger away. 

  
*

The following day, in the early hours, Yeosang felt a new presence approaching the mountain. A group of people, too numerous for Yeosang to discern. He flew down to inspect, and when he saw then from afar, he rushed to tell Hongjoong. When they were halfway their flight down to the mountain base, Hongjoong felt a sea of new scents, with only one that seemed to have reached his heart.

With trembling legs and teary eyes he approached his son, who had grown handsome and tall, with arms that embraced Hongjoong as strongly as he once did. He was joined by his queen, whom Hongjoong had not expected to bring, but as he introduced her, Hyojoong would not stop smiling. She was years younger than him, and just as soft-spoken as he was. They both had paid their respects to him as they would have during their ceremony. With his heart content and proud beyond its borders, Hongjoong bowed back.

Behind them were two columns of guards, and the two which stood in the front were the two people whom Hongjoong considered his sworn brothers. They had aged, but they had aged well. They smiled with tears in their eyes, but they both summoned the tiger’s willpower so they would not spill them. In their hands they each held a red box. Hyojoong opened the first once, from which he picked a crown. He approached Hongjoong, and saying nothing more, he placed his crown on his head. “Now I’ve grown, and I can do it properly.” He giggled at himself. Inside the second box was another crown, which he placed within Hongjoong’s hands, then lowered his head for him to put on. Hongjoong’s fingers were overcome by tremors as he did, and he did not know if he heat in his cheeks was pain from how much he had smiled, or a fever that he was not going to allow to overcome him. He was surprised to find out he had not yet forgotten what his crown felt on his head. When he wanted to take it off, Hyojoong told him to keep it, for it was his.

For the first time, Hongjoong approached Mingi timidly, longing pushing him forward more than anything, but found himself swept up in the air and embraced until aching. They have seen each other before, and they liked teasing him about how his eyes had changed. Jongho, on the other hand, was as formal and reserved as before, so Hongjoong took it upon himself and embraced him like an older brother would.

Upon leaving, he looked into their eyes as if with fear of forgetting them, and the more he did, the regret for not having told them more grew in his chest. His mind told him to run after them and yell something— anything, to prolong their visit. But as he held the crown against his chest, his heart felt content. Not brave enough to name it happiness.

He looked at Yeosang as if to confirm him that what had happened was real, and only smiled when the other did. “I see the spark of revelation in your eyes.” Yeosang said, wiping the trail of tears from Hongjoong’s jaw. “Am I wrong?” Hongjoong shook his head.

*  


“If I get bored, I’ll come find you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. You have a lot of reflection to do.”

“What if I get bored while I reflect?”

On the day Hongjoong decided to go on his first journey of self-discovery, he also told Yeosang to visit Pohang, for reasons he would not share. It did not take persuasion to convince him. Instead, Hongjoong told him to ‘Go reflect on things in Pohang while I go reflect…wherever’. 

“Just,” Yeosang began, flipping Hongjoong’s hair over his shoulder, then tucking a stray piece of fabric back inside his collar. “Don’t stop writing to me. And tell me where you are. And if you’re well. And if you’re not well, then-”

“ _Listen to me. I love you. Wildly. And loudly. As loudly as an eagle’s cry. As loudly as storms and lightning. So long as there will be sound, I will love you. So long as there is music, and so long as the sound of the flute I play will shift the winds, I will love you. Where there is sound and wind, know I am there too. And I am adoring you_.” Hongjoong quoted, wearing the proudest of smiles, cupping Yeosang’s cheek as if it was the essence of the Earth.

Yeosang took a step back as if he had insulted his mother. “What’s this?”

“Nothing. Just the most beautiful words I have ever received, and which I still recite to myself every night. Someone I cherish more than the world itself has told them to me.”

It wasn’t that Yeosang’s hadn’t guessed. It was only that he did not have the drop of selfishness in him to name himself. But he looked and smiled at Hongjoong like he did. Every solid thought has melted in his mind, and into his heart. “And if you’re not well then,” He attempted, slowly. “Call upon my name. I will be there. Even if,” He sighed. “Even if you want to fall in my arms because you want to be dramatic. That’s alright too.”

“ _Because if I fall, you’ll catch me_?”

“I’ll catch you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it here, thank you so SO much for reading ❤ ❤ this baby took 7 months to write and 53 hours to edit and proofread (in fact I am writing this at the end of those 53 hours, and I am tired and sad, but I feel like all was worth it like I can’t stop smiling rn )  
> I tried my best to stay as historically accurate as I could, but I’ll never say this was perfect. If I slipped somewhere, it’s okay to let me know, and I’ll change it.
> 
> Lastly (and I mean this in the nicest way) please don’t leave negative comments about Yeori just because she’s a female character (unless there’s something constructive, ofc), learn to appreciate powerful ladies <3 and remember that this is a work of fiction.
> 
> Thank you again for embarking with me on this journey ❤ Stay safe and hydrated and
> 
> Be kind ❤
> 
> Find me [here](https://twitter.com/cassyeopeia)


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